Long Forgotten Sons (Renegades Saga, Book 10)
by Renegades Inc
Summary: Horus's Coalition has risen in revolt against the Emperor and his Chaos God allies. In times as desperate as this, secrets once forbidden come to light again. Konrad Curze of the Night Lords, who has embraced the Emperor's brutal justice, is sent on a secret mission to save the Imperium's future. Yet he is not the only one. Written by gothik, 2013-14. Takes place late 003.M31.
1. Introduction

It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, led by the former imperial Warmaster Horus, are beginning their campaigns against the corrupted Imperium of Man.

Against them, the nigh-immortal Emperor waits on his Golden Throne. Allied with him are the four Chaos Gods, eldritch nightmares thirsting for human suffering. The Space Marines, once the Imperium's finest soldiers, are divided. The Emperor has gathered around him those of his sons - the Primarchs - that would not betray him, among them Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter of the Eighth Legion. The universe is full of evil and doubt, and only Horus and his armies can hope to save humanity from the laughter of dark gods.

Yet the Emperor too wishes to silence that laughter, and to make his power as the supreme god be recognized. It is for that reason that he sends Curze on a mission so secret that not even his closest sons, Lorgar and Dorn, know about. But in shadows this deep, there is room enough for many heroes, or monsters, to leave their unremembered mark.

The screams and pleas of the innocent will have no effect - not anymore. The age of debate and enlightenment is over. The dream of empire has ended.

The nightmare has begun.


	2. Chapter One

Darkness is his friend; it has always been his friend, the one true friend he could always count on. His home world is a world of darkness, a world that he has tamed with his own bare hands. Yet his achievement was not without its consequences. Unlike some of his brothers, he does not make friendships easily; and sometimes, he loathes himself more than he loathes even their weaknesses. And all those issues are why he is so perfect for the job his father has given him. The ability to sow terror in the hearts of others, and unease even in his brothers', is at the best of times a delicious feeling for him; yes, he is a monster, and he not only accepts but embraces that.

Yet, yet there is a part of him he himself fears: the visions. They are his weakness, always images of a dramatic and violent future. In some he sees his own death, and thought it is never exactly the same, when those visions plague him, it leaves him weak as a child. He remains in seclusion until the visions pass. Sometimes it is minutes, sometimes hours, sometimes days. Always, what remains is the afterimage and the taste of foul destinies.

Sometimes it is also his own blood, but that only tells him that he is still alive.

His only cause is justice - justice brought to those who deserve a peaceful, law-abiding life, and justice brought to those who think they can escape the Emperor's laws. Such is the fear he sows, it has been known for entire systems to surrender when they hear the whisper that he and his sons are coming. Such is their reputation that he does not even need to show in those cases. Fear is enough, in his view, to keep them on the right path. Other times he does not appear when they expect him, yes, but when he says the words, 'we have come for you', there is nothing left for the enemy, not even a quick death.

But now, as his mind clears, the vision gone, something is different. The Stygian darkness of his quarters, while no less total, seems less imposing, more welcoming, as he bathes in his true love, feeling it caress him.

And in that caress, Konrad Curze relieves his mission briefing.  
 _  
The throne room was magnificent, there was no other word for it, and in truth no book could suffice to describe it. No matter how many times he had been here, it had never ceased to amaze him with its grandeur. He did not know how the Custodes saw the master of mankind, but as he approached the seated figure, he saw a judge - not just a bureaucrat of the old judiciary from Nostramo's or Terra's ancient past but a warrior judge, dressed head to toe in the colours of darkness, his features unforgiving and unreadable, resolute and stern. He bent his knee and, as soon as the Custode left, the mirage was gone and once more the Emperor appeared in all his glory. But he did not wear his golden armour, having forsaken it for the finest robes and a cloak of wolf fur around his shoulders._

 _The Emperor motioned for him to stand and, standing with him, stepped down and removed the skull-shaped helm from his son's head._

 _Konrad Curze, whilst well-built, was pale and drawn. His eyes still glazed from his waking vision and blood trickled down his pale, thin lips where he had bitten them in his frenzy. Without a word, the Emperor guided his son to the seat beside him and poured him some wine. Handing him it, the Emperor waited until his son was back to his senses completely._

 _"I wish you would let me help you be at peace, Konrad," he finally spoke._

 _Curze said nothing and in essence the Emperor did not expect him to. Despite all that had happened recently, the Night Haunter was still a silent and guarded individual. He had, however, seemed to come alive at his new post, satisfied with the recognition for what he and his sons did best and being allowed to do it in the name of the Emperor's Justice._

 _"I was looking over your recommendation for a universal police force. You believe this would work?"_

 _"Yes, father. Judicial forces that are loyal to you and you alone, their rule absolute in the eyes of the law, with the remit to punish lawbreakers to the fullest extent acceptable, while also having been trained in combat and military tactics."_

 _"Oh?"_

 _"Should the need arise to impose martial law, then they will be equipped to do so."_

 _"And where do you propose the first schools for these Arbites be built?"_

 _"Terra and Nostramo, father."_

 _The Emperor turned his head as if to refill his goblet; in reality he was hiding a slight smile that had started to appear. He had already worked out that Curze would propose his home as a school for future keepers of justice._

 _"So be it, son, I will allow you to shape this as you see fit. But delegate: I have a different plan for you at the moment, something that I want you and you alone to carry out, in case your rather unique skills are needed."_

 _That piqued the Dark King's interest. The Emperor rose to his feet and beckoned his son to follow him. Curze remained silent but, when he passed the new statue afforded to Lorgar, he could not stop the sneer twisting his features. His father did not fail to notice it._

 _"You still do not care for Lorgar, do you?" It was not a question._

 _"I find him insufferable," Curze replied, never one to mince his words. "Father, if mankind wishes to see you as a god, then that is their right and one I will agree with. However, I am not about to pledge my allegiance to faceless entities in the Warp that have nothing but games on their mind. I have instructed my Legion as such. We shall use Chaos to meet our ends if need be, but these things are not gods and therefore should not be venerated as such._

 _"You are the only one they should follow to that end, for you are a being we can see, talk to, and touch. I would rather see my gods then have daemons speak for them. I am a being of terror and justice, I am a scion of battle and the master of the dark - I am not like Aurelian, and I do not seek faith when there are other answers. However, that being said, he proved himself a Primarch when he got rid of that blasted Kor Phaeron."_

 _The Emperor nodded. "Each of you have to find your own path to mix the warrior with the diplomat. Lorgar has done that and I feel that you have yet to."_

 _"I am not a diplomat," Curze corrected. "There are only two, maybe three brothers that I can think of that have fused the two, and none of them are on our side."_

 _He saw his father's expression and yet did not regret what he had said; it was, after all, the truth. He followed the Emperor in silence through to the Emperor's own hall of remembrance. He did not fail to notice the black shroud covering the statue of the Khan._

 _"How is Vulkan?" he finally asked._

 _"He is recovering. For the moment I am keeping him here; he will rejoin his sons when I deem him fit enough."_

 _"And what are you going to do about Angron?"_

 _The Emperor stopped and shot his son a quizzical look. "Do what about Angron?"_

 _"Father, he crippled Magnus and destroyed Prospero. Those actions alone sent Magnus into the renegades' hands."_

 _The Emperor said nothing and Curze decided that it was best left alone, the subject hardly being his concern anyhow. Eventually they came to a stop between two statues that had been covered for decades. The Emperor looked up at them and Curze had an eerie feeling creep over him._

 _"They are….."_

 _"I know who they are, just as you do and all your brothers."_

 _The Night Haunter stared at the nearly forgotten faces as his father pulled the covers off. He did not know why the Rout had been sent against them, he did not even know what they had actually done to deserve such extreme censure; but the events had sent a stark warning to the other Primarchs, one that they did not speak about, ever._

 _"They are dead, father, you sent the Wolf King after them. Why show me this now?"_

 _"Did I say that?" the Emperor asked._

 _"We all know that, spoken or no. Their statues were removed and their sons were given to the Ultramarines."_

 _"Not all their sons," the Emperor corrected._

 _"Enough to make Guilliman master of the largest Legion."_

 _"Touché." The Emperor smiled. "Now, come with me; I have a job that is better suited to one of your skills and talents."_

 _"What is it you want me to do? And what has it got to do with…..them?"_

 _The Emperor turned and his eyes darkened. Once more he looked like the shadow warrior that Konrad sometimes saw him as. His heart soared as he felt the Emperor's Justice persona enter his own._

 _"You are to find them." He pointed. "Their bodies were never recovered and not all their sons were divided between the Legions. If any are still alive, then it is time to bring them home, Konrad. One way or another."_

 _As rarely as he showed any emotion, the Night Haunter's jaw still dropped; and if his face could have become any paler, it would have. His father walked ahead, leaving his son for a moment to stare up at the effigies for a long moment or two._

 _It was not merely the assignment he had been shocked at, but the expression on his father's face._

 _For the first time, he saw fear and hope warring in an uncertain way across the Emperor's features. Curze knew that look, for all that he rarely wore it._

 _It was the face of a father looking at a beloved son that he might never see again._

The Night Haunter makes his way to the room where the artist has been quartered; the two Terminators of the Talonmaster's company salute him as he appears. He ignores them and walks into the room.

"Now, Garvan, let us talk."

* * *

He paced his strategium, restless and out of balance with his humours. He could not believe, did not want to believe, that his father, the master of mankind himself, the mightiest being to have ever lived, had suddenly turned everything upside down, that the one he had thought above all temptation had thrown all he had taught his sons to believe away. That he had decided to not only validate the bloody Prophet's absurd claims, but to give himself the power of long forgotten gods.

Corvus Corax had been a loyal son, following the course of history that his father had set out, and he been true to his word, for when he took over as Primarch of the Raven Guard his father had helped bring peace to his moon and his world. He had trusted in his father's honour, had assumed that the dishonour of his past would no longer be necessary in the Imperium's benevolent light. But it seemed that an emperor's honour could be traded when needs be.

To think that he now had to accept that what Horus and Magnus had said was true gnawed at him. He wanted to prove them wrong, to go to his father and see for himself what had happened, but he knew there was no chance of those tales being lies. The death of an entire company of Raven Guard at the hands of the Night Lords, all of them brought back to the Ravenspire by the Alpha Legion. Prospero gone, wiped from the star charts like she had never existed, Magnus crippled. The Great Khan dead at the hands of his brother Vulkan. Vulkan of all people…it beggared belief; the whole universe had gone mad.

He heaved a heavy sigh. Malcador was dead, as were his sympathizers in the Custodes, including Valdor. He had just been informed that Amon Teutomach Leng had been given safe haven aboard the _Indomitable Will_. At least with Mortarion watching over him the Last Lion, as he was being tagged, had found a sort of safe harbour.

He stopped by his window and gazed out at the starfield beyond. For countless generations, mankind had believed there were other forces working among those stars, be they alien or deity. They had certainly been right about the former, but now, it seemed, after a war that had almost destroyed Terra to rid it of religion and superstition, the latter had returned as well. But beyond that grand betrayal, vengeance burnt at his heart, vengeance for his lost sons and vengeance for the disgrace of believing a lie. Corvus Corax felt the dishonour of having a father and brothers gone mad keenly. And while the Raven Guard would side with Horus's Coalition, he knew that the path they would walk would ultimately be their own.

"My lord, there is a message from Lord Guilliman for you, private."

Corax acknowledged the vox operator's message and read what had been put through to his office. He ran a hand down his face as he read the contents. Once again, trouble rested on the Ravenlord's shoulders, and he did not know whether to provoke it. He needed a battle, something to take his mind off this bizarre point in history.

He got his wish. Twelve days later, the Raven Guard came down on the planet designated 27-143.

The inhabitants of 27-143 were not expecting anything like the Raven Guard; in fact they were not expecting anything like the Astartes. They were brutal and violent, but they did not have the knowledge of how to effectively stall Space Marines. No matter how many battles the inhabitants fought, they had lost the moment the wrathful Primarch and his sons touched down.

As he looked over the bloody field of battle Corax began to wonder on who he was taking his frustrations out on. Was it the Emperor and his loyal Primarchs, who had turned their back on all that had been gene-written into them? Was it Guilliman for asking his aid in building a second Imperium? Or was it the old rivalry with Horus? Things had never been easy between him and the Luna…no, not the Luna Wolves anymore, the Sons of Horus. He had always believed that Horus had used him and his sons to further his own glories, and at Gate One-Forty-Two that had been confirmed, so much so that the two Primarchs had almost come to blows.

Corax did not want to be under Horus's leadership again, but the Warmaster had closed the rift between them and he was not about to open that wound again over ego. Horus had been the natural choice for Warmaster: he was the Emperor's chosen heir, after all. He even agreed that Horus was the natural choice for - dare he say it - Emperor. That the choice was natural, however, did not mean that Corax liked it.

Or was it just the war? The danger to, for instance, their own homeworlds? If the Emperor was going to send Angron to do the job that the Space Wolves had done in times before, how long would it be before Cthonia, Baal, or even Deliverance fell to the same fate as Prospero?

He accepted the surrender with only a nod of the head, his thoughts flying in distant regions, and let the Imperial Army take over the compliance. Corax was about to return to his vessel when one of his sons, a young Astarte by the name of Halan Gre, knelt before him.

"My apologies, my lord, but both Captain Nevs require your presence in the Hall of Wonders."

Corax caught himself before he could laugh at the way young Gre had relayed his message. Nevertheless his mood lifted and, clapping his hand on his son's shoulder, walked with him towards the Hall of Wonders.

He found the brothers in the darkened collection. The hall had been spared most of the damage from the Titans' and Astartes' firepower, but there were areas that would need to be rebuilt. Walking through it, Corax had been amazed at the amount of history that was here. The Remembrancers that had accompanied him would find this place a fountain of knowledge, one for the future generations of the Imperium of Man to appreciate.  
 _  
If those generations are ever born._ That melancholic voice spoke in him, but he dismissed it angrily. He joined his captains and looked around, wondering what had caught their attention with such a mix of sorrow, horror , and intrigue.

"Well?" he asked them.

It was Branne Nev who pointed; Agapito was too stunned to even make any gesture. Corax followed his sons' gazes and the colour drained from his already pale features. Primarchs were not meant to feel such emotions as sorrow or shock, not in the way that humans did, but it was close enough now.

Encased in a stasis chamber was a suit of power armour. It was a dull red, but had once been a brilliant bronze sheen, with silver edging and black trim. On the left pauldron, Corax could make out a faded animal, a three-headed dog.

"Corax." Agapito finally found his voice. "The human here said this was found three years ago, right here."

"The Sons of Hades," Branne finally whispered with an unconscious sign of warding that Corax couldn't bring himself to comment on.

The Second Legion were all believed wiped out, the survivors assimilated into the other Legions. Corax did not say anything for a long time, and when he did, he ordered the armour taken down and brought with them to the _Shadow of the Raven_ \- Corax having renamed his flagship, unable to bear it being called the _Shadow of the Emperor_ for much longer.

"I want to see the man or woman that runs this place and I want to see them now!" he ordered, and the brothers knew that he was not to be kept waiting.

* * *

Curze shifted uncomfortably as he waited to board the _War Beast_ , a vessel that belonged to Angron. He had been summoned by Lorgar and Dorn to attend a council of the chosen. His Stormbird touched down in the giant hangar bay and as he descended with his equerry Captain Sheng and his First Captain Jago Sevatarion on either side of him, the crews in the hangar abased themselves before the master of the night.

He was met by Kharn, the equerry of the Red Angel himself, and Curze could not help but notice the checked violent emotions that, more than ever, surrounded the vaunted 8th Captain. Kharn bowed his head and led them to where the others had already arrived and were seated.

At the head of the table sat Angron, and he seemed different from how Curze remembered him. It was not only the scar across his face that he did not speak about - given either by Magnus on Prospero, or by the Emperor after for failing to bring the Cyclops back to Terra - but also his demeanor. His breathing was harsh, harsher than the Night Haunter had ever heard it before, and as ever he was a barely restrained killer; yet at the same time he seemed uncertain, wary even, in a way Curze was surprised he had the intellect for.

Beside him sat the Regent of Terra, his gold armour and red cloak fitting him like a glove. Upon his forehead sat a gold Diadem that signified his new position but, as ever, Dorn also remained the Praetorian and the Emperor's Champion, and his stone features betrayed nothing of what he thought about what was going on around him.

Opposite him sat Lorgar, resplendent in his armour with a cloak of the finest ermine dyed black around his shoulders, his eyes lined with kohl, his golden skin tattooed with the scriptures from his own written works made Curze sneer inside. Upon his bare head sat the papal crown but, for the sake of equality, he removed it and set it before him. Curze looked around him.

"Where are Manus, el'Jonson, and Fulgrim?" he asked. He did not mention Vulkan, knowing that at the moment the Salamanders' Primarch was unable to travel too far, and that his father wanted to control Vulkan's recovery. And, perhaps, to tell him lore of the Warp, the sort of lore the Night Haunter had rejected.

"Ferrus is dealing with things on Mars," Dorn quietly said, "Fulgrim is currently waging war against Ultramar, and el'Jonson… well, I am not sure what the Lion is doing."

"Consolidating his system, I expect," Angron snarled. His voice always held a hint of threat, but right now it was a deep snarl. "Or waiting to see how else he can piss off Perturabo."

"Someone needs to remind him that playing games with the Lord of Iron is not how to unman Perturabo." Lorgar sighed.

"He is acting like a petulant child," Angron snorted. "Ferrus is starting to ensure our sons have their armour and weapons, denying Horus and his warriors theirs. The Phoenician and his cross-dressing sons are at least doing something worthwhile. And meanwhile, the Lion is smarting over his personal honour because Perturabo kicked him off his LZ." Angron shook his head. "The more things change, the more they stay the same."

He raised his head and arched an eyebrow at the shocked expressions on his three brothers' faces. He allowed himself a smug smile: they always thought he was the animal, the one that was worse than Russ and his Rout, but the Night Haunter knew that they sometimes forgot that he had a brilliant mind too, even if it was getting harder and harder to resist the voice that was baying for blood that the Butcher's Nails brought forth. It took all his will to suppress it and keep it in check, and the pain eternal from the Nails did not make it any easier.

"And we are convened here because?" Curze asked, anxious to get on with what his father wanted of him, and aware that he was to keep it to himself.

"We need to act against the renegades." Lorgar sat forward. "They are making great gains as well as losses, in the war they are waging across the galaxy. Half the surviving Mechanicum from Ferrus's cull have ended up alongside Horus and our misguided brothers."

"Then they will not be without their armour and arms for long," Dorn mused.

"No. And I have recently heard of strange events going on around Cadia, although I cannot be specific as I do not have the information. Typhon informed us that Horus asked for one psychic son from each of six renegade Legions, for some grand project, though even he does not know what."

"I expect we will find out when Horus and Magnus are ready to tell us," Angron snarled.

No one disagreed with that. At the end of the day Horus was still the Warmaster, still the one that was deemed to be the perfect Primarch. The first amongst them all... that made him more dangerous than any thought possible.

"Way I hear it, Gulliman wants to make an Imperium Secundus." Angron yawned, a sign he was getting bored. "Already the renegades are split. There are those that will follow Guilliman, like Russ and Corax, and those that will follow Horus like Mortarion and Sanguinius."

"So let them have their civil war and destroy each other." Curze sat back. "Either they will see sense and join Father in the spreading of his word or they won't, but should the unimaginable happen and Horus win, I cannot see them accepting him as Emperor, so that will ever hold them back from cooperation." Curze narrowed his eyes. "I am more concerned with the Alpha Legion. We do not know what they are doing, and that worries me greatly."

"No need, brother." Dorn motioned towards the door, and as it opened, a figure in pale blue power armour with green trim walked in.

They all stood as the figure removed his helm to show a bald, copper-skinned warrior with a horrific scar down the left side of his face, one that even his healing evidently could not cover.

"I am Alpharius," he spoke, "and I have come to pledge my allegiance to the Emperor."

* * *

Sevatar walked with his father along the corridors of the _Nightfall_. He had not said much since returning from the _War Beast_ , as seeing Alpharius come in declaring his allegiance to the Emperor was indeed a surprise too far. Still, he had turned up with only one battle-barge, and of the larger Legion there was no sign. That was to be expected with the hydra, and yet...

Finally, Sevatar broke the silence. "What did you make of it, father?"

Curze shrugged but said nothing. Either he was mulling it over in his mind, or he just didn't care. Sevatar thought it might have been a bit of both.

"I suppose the Emperor will deal with it, but from what was said... could there have been a schism in the ranks of the Alpha Legion?"

Again Curze shrugged, but the slight furrow of his brow confirmed to the First Captain that that was what his father had thought. He stopped by his quarters and, as the First Captain took a closer look, he could make out the tell-tale signs that his father was about to experience his curse once more. Sheng was gone, so Sevatar quickly guided his father into his quarters and locked the door behind him.

He guided him to the centre of the room as he sat down, then took a place beside the doorway, guarding his father and watching over him as the waking vision took hold of him once more…..

 _It was always the same. The time he did not know, the place he did not know, but the scene was the same. He was on Nostramo, his world, a world fit as a vision of justice. One of his rare trips home had let him oversee the next recruits for the Astartes and the intake of Arbites, his dream of an ordered universe coming to fruition._

 _Suddenly, the silence of the cheering crowds became as deafening as their roars of adulation, the crowds looking up to see the skies turn black. Astartes with jump packs, drop pods and Stormbirds started to fall towards his world. Before he could react one giant amongst them landed before him, his talons as silver as the moon of Terra._

 _He moved out of the shadows like he belonged there, his breathing measured. He had come to deal death, he had come to restore the balance, and he had come for the Night Haunter. As they fought, he could not see the face of the Primarch he was battling, but he knew who it was. He unsheathed his own claws. Two Primarchs guided by the dictates of the night, both the best at what they did, alike and yet so different._

 _The Raven's talon struck and cut the Night Haunter deep, deeper than even his healing could deal with, as blow after blow was rained upon him; he slashed at his enemy with the barest facade of control, cutting flesh and bone, snarling his hatred, blood and spittle flying in equal measure._

 _His world was already dead, and his sons were dying around him: Sevatarwas cut in two as he came to his father's defence, sliced from sternum to abdomen, a wound his body could not recover from. Sheng, Zaal, Krieg, they all fell under a Primarch's wrath, and the wrath of his black-clad Legion.  
_

 _For there was only one Primarch who would know how to turn the Night Lords greatest strength upon themselves; and as the Talons dug into his chest and ripped his beating hearts from his body, the last of his sons taking a final breath in a world tearing itself apart, the face of the Raven looked down upon him with hate….._

 _His world. His Legion. And then, his life._

He woke trembling violently. He was helped by a pair of strong hands and water was given to him to ease his dry throat. Once the trembling had subsided, he allowed his helper to guide him to a seat; in the dim light of his own quarters he saw the concerned features of his First Captain. Nodding slightly to signify he was well, no matter that the vision was so much more taxing than usual, he saw Sevatar step back. The Night Lord bowed his head and left the Primarch to his privacy.

He got up and lay down, closed his eyes; the headache beginning at the base of his temples soon became a horrendous throb. It would not last, but for the duration he practised the techniques his father _had_ taught him, and his memory drifted back.

 _"Are you going to tell me what is going on here, father?"_

 _They were now in the Leng Hall, the images of his two lost brothers burnt into his memory like a poker. He knew the story: the Emperor, for reasons of his own that had likely involved treason, had sent the Wolves of Fenris after the two Legions. Their Primarchs were gone, their sons either dead, scattered or amalgamated into the other Legions… mainly the Ultramarines._

 _It was something that had caused concern amongst the other Legions, including Horus and Sanguinius. Curze, for his part, did not doubt Guilliman's staunch reputation nor his loyalty; the latter was predictable, if occasionally sickening to one who lived on his wits. Of course, now all three of those Primarchs were renegades and he, somehow, was not..._

 _The Emperor had allowed no further details to be revealed, not even to Horus, which had puzzled the first among them greatly. Of course the rumours had flown around as so often they did: their gene-seed had been tainted, they had committed some atrocity in the name of other beings, they had defied the Emperor's edicts. But whatever the reason for the secrecy, all those rumours remained rumours alone._

 _Curze had wondered why his father was giving him this top-secret mission with one hand, while keeping the details of it hidden with the other. As good as he was, he was no mind-reader, and he needed more information to complete his task.  
_

 _"Do you remember their homeworlds, Konrad?" His father never called him the Night Haunter, and whilst it had been a source of irritation for him, he had grown to accept the fact that his father was being….well, fatherly to him. For the first time in centuries Konrad Curze finally felt like he had a father._

 _"One was a world that some might have put to the ancient descriptions of Hell, as far as I recall," he had said. "The other a forested planet of raging storms and eternal rain."_

 _They stood on the balcony, the Emperor watching his changing world. Mighty cathedrals were being raised in his name, and pilgrims from across Terra were making the journey to see him or at least to touch the walls of the holy palace. On Nostramo, the populace avoided Curze's residence, as if even coming near the hallowed walls of the Night Haunter would bring his curse upon them all. Stories were told to the children by their parents: behave and do as the law says, or the Night Haunter will come for you._

 _It worked. Crime was almost non-existent on his world now. Of course he knew what he would do should that ever change, every one of his brothers knew what he would do, as did his people. While he had taken their children, it had been not to maim or kill for their own ideals of justice, but to serve as his sons. The Night Haunter was above all feared... but he was also respected._ _It was all to add to the mystery of the Night Haunter and the Night Lords._

 _The Emperor caught the eye of a child, nine or maybe ten, and raised his hand in greeting; almost immediately, the child was swamped by the faithful. Curze saw a Word Bearer amongst them, and taking an oath of moment attached to his armour, he gave it to the mother of the child. Almost immediately the child was taken.  
_

 _The Emperor smiled a little. "Another son for Lorgar," he indulged. "Go to that world of storms," he suddenly said. "Let no one stop you, let no one know what you are doing, but find me any Astartes still alive, or what they have left behind, and bring them here."_

 _"And if their fathers still live?"_

 _"Them too, but after the Rout's visit, I doubt it very much."_

 _"If anyone else finds out about this on the renegades' side, then we will have a battle on our hands."_

 _"Then do not let them find out, Konrad, and if they do, well, you know what to do."_

 _Konrad Curze bowed his head and walked away. He stopped to look in on Vulkan and exchange pleasantries with the quiet Primarch. While Vulkan may have been soft-hearted in the past, he had certainly accepted the Legions' place now; and in truth Curze had never had a problem with Vulkan, only the reverse. In fact he admired some of Nocturne's cult practises. And if Vulkan dealt justice only reluctantly...  
_

 _Well, the same had once been true of Curze._

The headache receding, the Night Haunter fell into a sleep with the exhaustion of the vision, but not before telling the master of his vessel where to go. There was to be no questions and no debate: these were his orders, as given him by the Emperor.


	3. Chapter Two

The terrified man was brought before the Raven, at first having urinated several times as he was led to where the glowering Primarch now stood. Corax, however, knowing the effect that he might have on the human, ordered him to be allowed to clean himself up.

Even so, changing into a fresh pair of clothes did not stop the trembling. The poor man thought that he was going to piss himself again, and though this time he did not, he could not bring himself to look up at the giant before him. The Astartes were giants in armour, but the man now standing with his arms folded was taller than that….a god; and all he could do was fall to his knees and on his face, terrified that this being was going to smite him down.

Corax felt his annoyance drain away into regret at the unusually desperate reaction as he altered his stance and told the man to rise, asking his name.

"Ba…Bauman, Lord."

"Is that your first or surname?" he asked.

"It is my name, Lord"

"Then, Bauman; perhaps you could tell us how you came by the suit of armour that had sat here?"

Bauman read the description and nodded. "We found it, Lord, three years ago."

" _Where_ did you find it?"

Corax laid a map of the area he had conquered a few short hours ago on the table and waited as the nervous human took a long look at it. As the man studied the map, Corax took a look over him. The human was in his mid-forties, he guessed, his hair striped like volcanic ash, his skin a dark tone of brown, the only jewellery he wore a band on his ring finger.

Corax knew he did not understand the deeper significance of marriage. He would not have had the time to explore such feelings even if his gene-code had not had them expelled. Nonetheless, he had seen romantic relationships among the warriors in the Imperial Army under his command. On occasion he'd had the honour of binding two human warriors together. Corax understood that what Astartes did not need, humans did. He took no pleasure in keeping the man from his wife and family - but he needed to know where to go.

After a few moments, Bauman pointed to a region that appeared to be darker than any other area on the map. "The Mountains of Mourn. This is where we found it; we were relieved that there was no body, for only giants - " he paused for a moment, nervously looking around him - "only giants would wear that."

Corax did think, for a moment, of asking the man if he would escort them, but he was too scared as it was. Corax was not fond of frightening humans in such a fashion - better that his allies look up to him, and his foes never see him coming. Instead he asked him to discuss the route and then let him go back to his family. Branne watched the man almost ran out of the hall.

Agapito turned from his amused observance of the human and frowned as he saw the expression on his father's face. "Will you inform the Warmaster?" he reluctantly asked.

"When there is something to tell him, yes," Corax mused. "For now I want this kept to the Legion." Corax looked at the map. "Just me and you two; let's go."

* * *

The Emperor read the communications from Lorgar and Dorn. Lorgar would be continuing on his way, but Dorn was returning home, with Alpharius. The Emperor rubbed his jaw as Dorn outlined what Alpharius had actually said; Lorgar had also added a side message saying that, knowing how the Alpha Legion operated, he was not altogether certain that it was Alpharius.

The Emperor would know, he would always know; no matter how clever they were, what father did not know his own sons? It would be a few weeks before they arrived back here, and for the time he turned his mind to the mission he had given the Night Haunter.

He could have given this to Rogal or even Lorgar, but this was nearest to Konrad's niche, and he needed his most distant son to feel his importance. The Night Lords did what they had been wrought for, and very successfully indeed, but they had to be more than terrors. Perhaps when this mission had been fulfilled (for, he insisted to himself, it would be completed, and his fears would not come true), he would send Konrad after Amon, to get whatever Malcador had put in his Custode's head and bring Amon back into the fold. He had lost his oldest friend, and Amon was like a brother to Constantin. The two were always in each other's company….had always been, he corrected himself.

He had not wanted it that way; he did not want to lose his oldest friend and his own brother. There was no other psyker like Malcador; besides himself only Magnus could compare, and Magnus was now beyond his reach.

Why did he feel the need, in these times, to re-visit old ghosts? He had dealt with the Second and Eleventh, hadn't he? But something in the ether had told him otherwise. He had been communing with the other gods when he had sensed a change in the warp, a slight change and almost un-noticeable, but nevertheless a shift that was a tell-tale sign of one or two of his sons, ones that he had thought gone. Maybe Russ had not been as thorough as he had thought, perhaps the Wolf King could not bring himself to finish the task set out for him. That, though, was unlike Russ, and altogether the affair was quite puzzling. He could not leave Terra, not with the Webway needing constant vigilance and his Imperium needing his guiding light, so he had despatched Konrad to do the job he knew he would find more to his taste than anything else he had done lately.

He was certain it was just his own grief at what had happened playing tricks with his mind, but Russ had said that some escaped, and if that was the case he would offer them the hand of forgiveness, because it was becoming evident he needed all the warriors he could get. He knew Horus and his renegades would come to Holy Terra, it was inevitable, but he did not want it to be with the might of a conquered galaxy behind them. Better to have Horus's fleets trapped between a resurgent Imperium and the anvil of Sol. It would be a while, in any case. They would need to reclaim worlds for his rule, not to let too many fall into his misguided sons' hands.

As to the other reason he had assigned Curze this mission, he did not think of it.

He closed his eyes and sent his mind searching for Lorgar; there was something he needed the Urizen to sink his teeth into.

* * *

The Mountains of Mourn were well named. The rest of the planet was wet and marshy, which had caused some of the Imperial Army… or, rather, the human army... problems, but nothing unresolvable. But as soon as he and his two captains landed on the track that the human had shown them, they were hit by a fine, penetrating rain and fog that, in places, was so thick it even gave the Astartes problems seeing further than their hands.

"I wonder if this is how the sons of the Lion feel when it rains on Caliban," Agapito murmured as he tightened his grip on his bolter. "It's a wonder anyone makes a living on this swimming pool of a world."

"That's the strength of humankind, my son." Corax glanced at him. "To have the tenacity to make a living out of a world that does not give up its wealth easily."

Branne stopped as a roar echoed along the ridges. He shook his head. "Seems the wildlife may not want us here either, no wonder the caretaker did not want to come here."

They remained on alert, wondering if they would see the creature that had made that threatening noise, as they made their way along the paths. Around, they could see the huts of miners, though by the state of them they had been long ago abandoned. Whether it was through the mines drying up or whatever lived up here, none of them could say, but the cobwebs that stretched across the mines' entrance suggested either many decades of neglect or unusually large arachnids.

Branne murmured something about the Mechanicum wanting to make use of them, and so Agapito made a mental map of where each mine shaft they passed was, so that a full report could be given to the Mechanicum when they returned to the _Shadow of the Raven_. He didn't know if he would ever get used to calling her that, but like so much lately, he would have to get used to the changing tides.

They walked for a few kilometres. Branne had risen on his thrusters, but the fog made it difficult to see anything and so, for the sake of his sanity and safety, he had suggested they remain on foot. Corax had not seemed at all bothered about the walk; judging by the rare peaceful expression on his drenched face, he was thoroughly enjoying it.

His coal-black hair stuck to his handsome visage and his eyes took in everything around him. He was the Raven-Lord, and often he was happier in the skies, but sometimes it was nice to walk a world like this, to take in not its shape but its texture.

"Corvus." Agapito cleared his throat. He and his brother had been part of the Primarch's rebellion during the civil war that freed them from their overseers and when they were alone, they addressed their father by his first name. Never in the presence of others, though, for the bond the Raven-Lord had with the two brothers and the others who had fought to free Deliverance did not take precedence over the necessities of protocol. "Why do you suppose a member of the Second would be here?"

Corax stopped where and took in the blurred sights around him once more. He had wondered that himself and had tried to think of an answer; more to the point, why had the Astarte left his armour? Was he afraid that someone would see him in it and end his life in a meaningless cull? No Astartes knew fear, but they did have an aversion to pointless death. Death should come on the field of battle, at the hands of an enemy, not due the echoes of a conflict long ago lost.

Although as things were now, who was to say what death was pointless? "I don't know, Ag," he quietly replied, "perhaps he wanted to forget his past glories and humiliations, or perhaps he was injured or dying and could not bear to end in the armour that had ended his honour? I do not know, but if the humans found no remains, then he may yet live."

As Corax spoke, Branne rounded a corner and came face-to-face with one of the biggest creatures he had ever seen. Even crouched, it stood about five meters tall with a long, snake-like neck that was nevertheless thicker than even an Astarte neck. Its head was horned and reminiscent of the Salamanders' sigil, with rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth. It walked on its hind legs, two powerful muscle-laden limbs that ended with claws clearly designed to rend flesh from bone. Its two arms seemed strangely misshapen and out of place on a large body, for they looked like the arms of a young adult human.

"Now we know why the mines are empty," Corax signed as he looked up.

The three men attacked, but it was not going to be an easy fight, for despite its bulk the monster was far more agile than they believed. Agapito, attempting an attack from behind, was sent hurtling into the rocks to his side so quickly he didn't even notice the blow. His armour protested at the force by blinking its runes at him. If he did not know better, he would have said it was swearing at him, but as it was he was winded and had to fight to stay conscious.

He got to his feet in time to see his brother, with his arms round the neck of the beast, being swayed about like some bizarre dance partner. His swearing came in short gasps and, as he raised his arm to dig his talons in, he was unceremoniously deposited high into the trees. If the fight had not been so dangerous Agapito would have laughed at it.

But then he saw why it was that Corax was their Primarch, their lord, and their father. He descended from the clouds above like a black lei-angel of ancient texts. His arms were outstretched, and the Raven's Talons shone despite the dull weather. He looked the beast in the eye and, with two lightning strikes, the battle ended. The monster's left eye disappeared in blood and gore as the talons ripped it out, while the right side of the head seemed to simply vanish. The beast did not die straight away; blinded and too hurt to continue, it wandered off.

Agapito made to follow it, but Corax stopped him. "Let it go; it has a right to die where it wants."

Branne came back, brushing his armour of the twigs and leaves that had attached like limpets to him. "Well, that's why there are no more miners."

"I don't see how humans would satisfy something like that." His brother removed his helm and scratched his forehead.

"It would have taken the livestock too," Branne added. "When we were battling in area designate 43, there were some sizable creatures the natives were using as mounts."

Corax let them have their discussion; something else had caught his eye. Had they not been looking they might not have found it, but the opening in the rocks was hidden only well enough to draw the Primarch's gaze. When the brothers realised that their Primarch had wandered off, they looked around and found the opening themselves. With a sigh, they both followed him, catching up with his thoughtful wanderings quickly enough. Branne almost wanted to tell him off, but thought better of it; after all, Corax, like his own brothers, did basically what he wanted. They activated their armours' lights as the darkness enveloped them and, for the first time since coming on this trek with their father, they felt comfortable. Darkness worked with them and for them - that was the only equation to the Night Lords they agreed with.

Corax said nothing, his thoughts sunken in memory. The Sons of Hades had always been a little different to their cousins. Their world was a vision of hell, partially tidally locked against its host star; in places it had oceans of magma, and in others sudden cold fronts froze people solid. Its seas were acidic enough to challenge even Astarte endurance... but for all of that, perhaps it would have been little worse than Fenris or Caliban, if not for its pre-Imperial culture, which before the coming of Charion... there, he had admitted it. Charion, his brother, whom he had made himself forget. If Mortarion was the master of death, then Charion had been its keeper.

His sons fought through terrains too harsh for other Legions. Their endless battles, and their ability to keep themselves alive in those battles, had won them laurels. Back then only the Luna Wolves had freed more systems than they had, and for a time they were the largest Legion. The Sons of Hades did more than survive in such conditions, though - they thrived, using alien ecosystems to their advantage, working fluidly together in ways Corax had found himself studying.

But Charion had been raised in a dismal tyranny dedicated to celebrating human suffering, and though he had destroyed that regime, it had left scars on him - not physical, for he'd been adopted by one of the ruling diabli-clans, but mental. In time, he stopped believing that their father was the rightful ruler of mankind. More and more, he had spoken about how he disagreed with the Emperor's edicts, about how no being had the right to absolute power. It was a view that had even Corax, who should have been the first to sympathize with Charion, incensed, for this was their father he was denouncing. But it was the Lion, in the end, who started the road to ruin for the Second.

Charion, for all his tactical fluidity, ultimately placed great value on the truth; he had his honour and his martial pride. Much the same could be said of the Lion. The two Primarchs did not like each other, but they worked well together in a strategic sense, and so collaborated on a number of campaigns. But after one such victory, a joint compliance against orks, Charion had gone too far in his criticism, and - though the precise words that were spoken Corax still did not know - the Lion had told him he had no place in the Imperium if this would be how he would talk about their father. In the end they came to blows, as did their sons. It was different to the fight between Curze and Dorn; this was all-out war, Legion turned against Legion, though it had ended inconclusively. The Wolves of Fenris were sent to bring the Sons in peacefully, but Charion refused to face what he saw as his father's one-sided justice. Russ had let slip that Charion said he would do fine without him, or anyone else.

What had come after had been a mystery. Russ had refused to speak of it, but the Wolf King was not quite the same after that. Corax had respected Charion a great deal, but he was not close to him. The translucent-haired Primarch had few true friends; Mortarion could perhaps claim the closest bond, while Angron, Perturabo, and Sanguinius had more distant ones. But all the same, Charion also tried to make no enemies among his brothers, at first. The glory days of the Second Legion, which had already been fading when Corax had been found...

He returned to the present, locking his memories away once more. The feelings of unease he felt in the memories were not hard to trace; it seemed, now, that Charion had been more right than even he had known. As it was, Corvus Corax focused himself on the job at hand. If any of the Sons of Hades had survived, this was a time to forgive and to extend the hand of brotherhood. No matter what else was going on, there had never been a time when unity was more needed.

* * *

The _Hand of Deliverance_ flew through the ocean of stars as if it deserved to be there. Within the battle-barge, the 61st Company of the Raven Guard Legion was enjoying a rare span of freedom, and the peace of the moment afforded the Commander a moment or two to reflect on what was happening.

He did not know what to do; as a Terran-born Astarte given the gene-seed of Corax he had always had a duty to the Emperor, but, unlike many of his Terran brothers, his loyalty was to Corax, the man whose ideal and image he was modelled on. He had always been one of the most loyal to the Raven-Lord among the Terran Raven Guard, but even aside from all that, he did not believe in what the Emperor was doing. If he had thought there would be a good outcome to these changes... well, there was no use dwelling on yesteryears. He had made that choice, and he had the blood of a brother on his hands to prove it.

As a child he had grown up in a community that had been one of the last to ditch the religious icons of the past. Some of his village had taken longer to accept that there were no gods and that there was no single being of supernatural and omnipotent power to carve mankind's destiny; the futures they had, man and woman themselves had made. Now everything he had been conditioned to believe had disposed of like some worn out axim. That was what distressed him most, even more than the war that had followed. And those later news were themselves grim - Magnus was crippled by Angron and the Khan was dead at the hands of Vulkan, Prospero was gone, Mars under the stewardship of the Gorgon, and Lorgar was Pope… _Pope_ , such an absurd title for a Primarch, even one as zealous as Lorgar. Malcador was dead, replaced by the Praetorian, whom the Captain had thought better of.

It was all so bizarrely unexpected and so desperately unwelcome. But it was true. That much, he could not deny.

Captain Anteau Shierek was snapped from his musings by the sound of the proximity alert going off, and as he began ordering for information he had an uneasy feeling wash over him. On the screen where only the star field had been visible, with the system's most stable Mandeville point still an hour of travel away, a rift suddenly opened and a Legion capital ship came through, in midnight clad. He felt a mix of his hearts jumping at the sight and bile rising in his throat as he realised what it was.

"Night Lords," Sergeant Uneses breathed slowly beside him.

"Not just any Night Lords, old friend," Captain Anteau Shierek swallowed heavily, "but _the_ Night Lord. That's the _Nightfall_ , and that means…."

"Curze," Uneses snarled.

"Have they seen us?"

"No, Lord, they are continuing on their course. The cloaking held."

"I want vox silence and I want only essential systems running," he ordered.

"What are you planning, Brother-Captain?"

The captain looked at his sergeant, a grim expression on his face. "I want to see what they are doing, and I want to see what is so important that the Night Haunter himself has been despatched, whether for war alone or something more."

"Shouldn't we inform our Father?"

"Cal, when it is safe to do so without them picking it up, I will do so immediately, but until then we will recon the situation... and maybe we will get to settle an old score."

"Corax wants that honour, brother," his sergeant warned.

"I am not stupid," Shierek snapped. "I am not about to take on a Primarch alone. But I want to finally show that the Raven Guard are the true masters of the dark, not some deranged lunatics who obsess over fear and torment."

Uneses shook his head. His Captain had thirsted for revenge against the Night Lords after the death of the 152nd Company. He suspected it was because his genetic cousin had died there, the only link to a past that he had all but forgotten. They said, in other Legions, that the sons of Deliverance were stubborn, but Uneses had always found that among the Raven Guard, the greatest stubbornness was found among the sons of Terra - and those few among them who had both survived and remained loyal to Corax, like his captain... those were the most stubborn of all. If Shierek wanted vengeance, Uneses could do little to corral him.

Despite those misgivings, Calastros Uneses stood behind his captain's command throne and watched as the _Hand of Deliverance_ went silent in observing the path of the Night Lord flagship, it would be good to get revenge for the fallen brothers, but it would also serve no purpose if another company was lost. And Uneses knew what it was like to lose his brothers, knew it better than anyone in the ship.

* * *

Corax stopped as they came out of the opening and into a rain-sodden, fog-laden valley that might, before its abandonment, have been paradise. Branne was now muttering about how he was fed up with the rain, for although he was not about to catch cold, he still did not feel comfortable walking when he felt better suited to the air.

Corax understood that sentiment. They were the Raven Guard, and they were of the sky; even Horus had admitted that the Raven Guard were the best of the best when it came to the assault, strike, and stealth tactics they used. That the Raven Guard were better-suited to aerial assaults did not mean that they were incapable of ground attacks, for they were just as ferocious as any of the Legions in that area. Nonetheless, a slog like this was, he knew, not in keeping with the training of his sons, nor indeed their mindset. But he was determined to see this through, if for no other reason than his curiosity about the armor.

They trekked across the marshlands, the mud caking their power armour, though it did nothing to slow them down. He was about to give up the search when a large shape loomed out of the thick, white shroud like death itself. As they neared the object they saw that it was a vessel, and an Astarte ship at that.

"That explains why it is so forlorn here," Agapito observed. "Its crash must have done a great deal of damage, wildlife and civilization both..."

Corax didn't speak. He was too busy looking over the stricken vessel. There were great rents in her sides like a whale being attacked by sharks; he could see the image in his head now, crew members, engineering crews and their overseers, naval officers, even Astartes being blown out into the cold vacuum of space. Astartes would survive a little longer thanks to their gene-enhancements, but even those were finite. Something had hit this vessel and hit her hard, and between accident and war, Corax suspected war. Certainly, though, it had been here for far more than three years. The undergrowth had started to make her part of the landscape, lichen and moss creeping upwards in green abundance. A few trees had surrounded it like ancient guardians, and any hole in the hull had branches growing in or out of it. Vines came down, curling themselves around wrecked conduits and pipes like slender lovers in an eternal tryst. The two captains and their Primarch father had to cut their way through the overgrowth, until they eventually found their way through to a clearer path.

There as a feeling of foreboding in the air, like they were trespassing in a place that they did not belong. The dead lingered here, and as they made their way through, Corax thought he could see ghostly replays of the crews' day to day life as well as their deaths. Of course that was ridiculous, but he would not ridicule it - for the Warp was without a doubt thin here.

None of them spoke; too many people had died here for them to desecrate that grave. It was a form of respect some would disagree with, but that did not stop the feeling. They all could picture the last moments of the ship and its crew; it was not hard, for they had all seen the effects void warfare had. Sometimes it was worse than the bloodiest ground assault - no chance to see the enemy's face, not even their ships, before a torpedo came from light-minutes away to spill their doom. Branne rarely gave the lower decks a thought when aboard Raven Guard ships, yet now he was forced to contemplate the lives of those workers on a ship of the Second Legion. They worked hard, in harsh conditions, with life expectancy often lower than in the Imperial Army. They made their own rules, pieced together their own culture, of which Branne could see traces - cards, picts, graffiti.

Here and now, sensing on some level the horrific deaths that the thousands of men and women who had lived, worked, and loved on these decks had gone through, he could not help but look down in shame at whether he did enough for his own ship's crew; he could see the same thoughts running through Agapito's mind. True, it was better than life on a Navy ship in terms of conditions, if more dangerous - but the ships of the Imperium were space cities, and it would not do to forget that.

They paused as they entered the upper part of the ship, occupied by the Astartes. As they entered the largest hall on the vessel, Corax muttered something beyond his sons' hearing. When they entered, Agapito and Branne felt their breaths be taken away, as Corax fell, swaying, to his knees.

The hall was a great bronze vault, hundreds of meters across, sepulchral in its majesty. Shades of orange, maroon, and black surrounded them, as if the Raven Guard stood in the middle of a great bonfire. Broken chains, one of the Second's symbols, lined the walls, and an intricate spiral on the floor drew the eye unerringly to the room's center.

In it, a giant glass coffin stood upright. Within it, his arms folded across his chest, two coins over his eyes, was a giant. The chest wounds that killed him were obvious, and Corax recognized his brother in a heartbeat.

"Charion," Corax breathed, and bowed his head.

* * *

He was scared, of that there was no doubt. As the Lord of the Night stood before him once more, he could feel the fear in his pent-up body being leeched out into him, a vampire taking the last drop of blood from a body when there was seemingly no more to be had. And - was the father of the Night Lords growing before his eyes? He shook his head to clear the image; as big as a Primarch was, he did not want to think that what his eyes were telling him was true. It was a trick, surely: being on a ship that had constant low lighting to replicate the eternal night of Nostramo had stated to take a toll on his eyes.

Curze eased his giant frame into the chair across from his guest and took stock of the quarters that had been given to their passenger. When Curze had picked him up several weeks ago, he had been a strong-willed man, worthy of being the so-called Keeper of Shadow, a guardian of the secret that had been passed to him from his father and his father's father. Now, he looked like prey caught in a hunter's lights.

"You are being treated well." Curze's deep and dangerous voice always appeared to be on the edge of sanity. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, but he was not to be ignored either way. His strength was legendary, his temperament changeable, and his deeds things of dark myth in the greater Imperium. If you did not want to meet the Night Haunter side of him, you had to stay on the side of Konrad Curze. Garvan Polarick had heard the fearful whispers of other humans that Konrad Curze and the Night Haunter were two separate entities living in one body. In truth, Polarick was not even sure they were truly distinct personalities, rather than masks - but he would much prefer not to think about any of that.

"Yes, my lord," he whispered.

"Sit up," Curze amiably spoke. "I come to you in peace; no need to cower like a child, sit tall and proud as I know your family to be." Curze handed him a tankard. "Try some Nostraman Ale; not as powerful as some, but certainly potent. No methanol like in the moonshine the sons of Fenris drink either."

Polarick took the drink and sat taller, but not so tall as to display arrogance. Even if the Primarch pretended to treat him as an equal, the scene was set up so that Polarick had a hard time remembering he was even human. He was in his mid-forties, but time in the Night Lords' company had aged him. His brown hair was lank and had lost its life, but his grey eyes held the knowledge given to him, knowledge that right now he wished had never been passed onto him.

"Tell me, Garvan," Curze adjusted his position, "why were your family chosen to be the keepers?"

Polarick did not want to look at the pale-faced giant across from him; it merely awakened the realm of nightmares that had haunted his sleep, and his waking hours for that matter, since he had been brought aboard the _Nightfall_ \- nightmares that had little to do with Curze. But no matter how hard he tried to block out the mass of genetic perfection, he could not. In the dingy lighting of the _Nightfall_ , the Night Haunter seemed to rise and swell, as if he were not merely the master of the shadows but part of them.

"My great-grandfather was witness to the fate of the two who shall not be remembered," Polarick miserably replied. In an age of reborn superstition, it seemed fitting that he use such language.

"No human was present," Curze responded.

"My great-grandfather was Fenris-born; his great-great uncle had been chosen to be one of the warriors of Fenris, and he walked beside them as an auxiliary Kaerl. Because of his memory, he was chosen by the Emperor to bear witness, an honour that any man should feel and not refuse."

"The Emperor's own record-keeper, then?"

"Yes, Lord. Jovan saw everything that happened, even took part in it, and as per the All-Father's wishes he kept an eidetic memory record, before being asked to keep it secret to pass it onto the eldest son only, should the memory of those days be again needed."

"The Keeper of Shadow. I would have thought it would have been an Astarte."

"That was precisely why He chose a human."

"So, why do you not live on your ancestral world?"

"I was born on the ice world of Holdarth. I left when I was sixteen; the memories locked in my mind are driving me insane, moreso when I stay on one world too long."

Curze smiled a little. "You are in good company, then."

Polarick did not know what to make of that, so said nothing. He kept his gaze fixed on the table and started patting his shirt down.

"Missing something?"

"My tabac sticks," he whispered.

Curze turned and made a motion to the woman by the door; she bowed her head and, reaching into her top pocket, took a fresh pack and lighter out of her pocket and lay them on the table. Curze motioned with his head and she left them alone. The Primarch watched as with shaking hands, Polarick lit his tabac stick and drew in a long steadying breath.

"So tell me how these secrets were imprinted into you. Are you a psyker?"

Polarick made the sign of warding and shook his head vigorously. "When I was ten I was taken to a Mechanicum facility on Luna, where a meme was placed inside my skull that downloaded the secrets of two Legions into my mind. The meme dissolved quickly; my memories did not."

Curze had suspected as much. He could see why the Emperor chose a human now, aside from obscurity: an Astarte might have thought to make use of this information to further themselves, but a human would have been too scared of the repercussions of betraying an edict that came from the Emperor himself.

"Tell me, Garvan, why would the Emperor want a record of that which even we Primarchs do not speak of?"

Polarick arched an eyebrow and looked up for the first time since he had started talking to the dark Primarch. "I thought you knew, Lord, you being sent by the Emperor and all… it's the gene-seed."

Curze sat back, letting a hiss escape his throat. Now that was very interesting indeed...

* * *

Corax closed his eyes as his hand touched the casket, muttering an apology-remembrance to his lost brother. He did not expect what happened next. In an instant, his consciousness was filled with the images of the Primarch's final days, days whose promised seemed fulfilled today. He gasped aloud and sank to his knees, overwhelmed by what he was seeing. Branne and Agapito made to rush to his side, but he snarled at them to stay away. Shocked by the venom in their fathers' voice, the two genetic brothers stepped back; all they could do was watch as Corax relieved his brother's last moments…

 _"Is this what you are reduced to now, Leman, being the Emperor's assassin?"_

 _Charion was an imposing figure. His jet-black armour was lined with orange trim, and the symbol of a three-headed dog forged a clasp that held his dark red cloak in place. In his left hand was what looked like a bolter made from the darkest black metal; Soul Keeper, the weapon had been named and for good reason, for anyone shot with it was surrounded in a dark light and immolated in a manner some claimed to be psychic. It was a painful and horrific death, one that even Astartes did not fancy being on the end of, for then their legacy stored in their gene-seed would be gone, almost as if they had never existed. Many of the Rout had met that end today. In his right hand, Chario held a mighty power-trident, forged by the hands of the Gorgon himself. It was balanced, sharp, and deadly, able to cut through power armour like a knife through butter or rend human flesh into tattered bloody strips. His glass-like hair sat in a single punk strip and was tied into a tight ponytail, at the end of which was a metal morningstar ball already bloody from the lives he had taken. They had come to his homeworld, sent by his bastard father to try them for crimes that had been perceived as dangerous to the stability of the Imperium._

 _"The Imperial Truth is the law, Charion," Russ evenly said. "You are to bring the worlds you bring to illumination into the Imperial Truth; no gods, no magic, all manners of faith to be destroyed, only faith in themselves and the Imperium. Yet you have left that job undone, left worlds behind that are no more compliant than they were before the Sons of Hades came."_

 _Charion's white eyes lit up with mirth. Those eyes were pure white, pupil-less; why, Russ did not know. All he knew was he was here to bring his brother and nephews in, and even now that they had refused and spilled blood, he still wished to reach an accord with his brother.  
_

 _"You and I both know that this has nothing to do with that, it's to do with my beating of the Lion," Charion snarled. "He does not like to be made to look a fool."_

 _"I don't blame you for that," Russ conceded, "but I do blame you for the deaths of his sons. You tried to humiliate him, and in the process damaged Unity itself. This subversive, uncontrolled behavior... the Emperor could not let it stand."_

 _"Hah!" Charion spread his arms wide as he uttered his sarcastic laugh. "Then where is my accuser? Too wrapped up in his own machinations to come and accuse me to my face?"_

 _"He is around," Russ mysteriously said._

 _"My work has brought more worlds under Terra's banner than even your own Legion. I am a son of the Imperium, Wolf King. But I know what Father will become - a mad god, drunk with power, who would see all that does not conform to his will destroyed! Like every tyrant in the history of humanity!"_

 _"Enough, Charion. It's not too late. Lay down your arms, come in with me, and I will stand by you, brother. Order your elite to stand down."_

 _"I will do no such thing…."_

 _The Second Primarch hefted his trident and threw it as if it were no more than a javelin. Russ dodged out the way and then turned as he heard what sounded like a mechanised scream. Brother Haffinjer, a respected warrior interned into a Dreadnought half a century ago, writhed as the trident struck deep into his sarcophagus, the fluid that suspended his mangled body slipping from the broken tomb he called home. Russ stared, uttered a disbelieving shout, and launched himself at his brother. Haffinjer was not the first of his sons to die today, but Russ would do his best to ensure he would be the last.  
_

 _The two Primarchs fought like gods of old, the ground shaking as blow after blow landed. Russ, caught in the rage of a beast, mourning his sons' deaths, gritted his teeth as spittle flew from his parted lips. His canines elongated, ready to tear out his enemies' throat._

 _Charion was no weakling and, for each blow the Wolf King landed, he landed one twice as hard. Blood flowed from rents in their respective armours, and blade clashed against blade. Around them, the Wolf Guard fought the Pentagram, yet the two Primarchs barely paid attention to it. The fight was utterly chaotic, both Primarchs switching weapons at a moment's notice. Yet in the end, it was Charion who was knocked back, his breastplate cracked. Russ had only a moment's opening, but he was the Lord of Winter and War, and that was more than enough. He let a roar erupt from his lips and drove his clenched fist full-force through Charion's shattered breast-plate and, with a yank, pulled out both his hearts._

 _Charion sank to his knees, his body going into shock and his eyes focusing on the two dripping hearts that were clenched in Russ's massive fist. Russ lost his rage and, stunned at what he had done, he dropped to one knee and tried to stuff the hearts back inside his brother's body._

 _"I am sorry, Char, I am sorry."_

 _Charion's eyes flickered as his body convulsed. He looked up to see a golden-armoured warrior above him, and Russ raised his head._

 _"Father… can't you save him…"_

 _The Emperor, or perhaps merely the projection of the Emperor, looked down stoically; Charion gave a bloody half-smile and died without a word as his sons closed ranks around him.  
_

Corax finally moved from the sarcophagus, amazed at what he had seen, it wasn't just the violence of his brother's death, but also the expression on his father's face. The Emperor had looked at Russ with an expression that Corax himself had worn more than once towards his sons - a father commiserating a son's first kill. But towards Charion, the Emperor showed merely an uncaring and indifferent visage. It was like looking upon the face of a different man.

Had the Second Legion's Primarch seen what was to come? It was true that each of them had some part of their father's abilities, but it had manifested stronger in some sons than in others. Curze, Sanguinius, Lorgar, and of course Magnus were known to have an echo o their father's psychic power. He did not know if Charion had ever been that strong, but if what he had just seen was to be believed, his brother had reached out from beyond the veil, unless it was the Second Legion's Librarians that had prepared this.

 _I committed no sin, Corvus; I was marked for death for knowing what he would become.  
_

Corax span around as the voice entered his mind unbidden; he glanced at his two sons, who were continuing with their work, before making their way to his brother's tomb.

 _You are still alive?_

He got no answer, not then and not after. Branne called him over and showed him a data slate; Corax took it and took one last look around him.

"We will leave him here," he finally said. "This is befitting a tomb as any, one built by his own sons, and I cannot see anyone else finding him."

"What about the armour, Lord?" Agapito asked.

"I suspect it was thrown from the ship when it crashed here." Corax sighed. "The crew and Astartes that were here are all dead; they were the last of his sons that remained loyal, and I suspect they wanted to get him away, mourn him. Yet the Rout boarded, and... I am surprised they even reached this world. Yet they did, and Russ left this cruiser as a mausoleum. A Legion's last memorial."

* * *

Corax sat in the seclusion of his private sanctum, looking over the still sealed data packet. He hadn't opened it, too disturbed by the voice he heard. Had Charion been a seer who knew what was going to happen to him? Did he know what was going to happen to the Emperor, or the fate of his Legion? To have his sons either dead, incarcerated or split across the other Legions, most notably the Ultramarines? So many questions and not enough answers.

With a sigh he got up and stood before the holo-communicator. He waited and then, when he was ready, Horus and Sanguinius stood before him, though in reality they were half a system away. Corax was stunned by how drained Horus looked. The Warmaster was having to deal with his father's madness, but on that was compounded the feud with Roboute, and now, surely, myriad lesser problems at this council.

Sanguinius, as ever, looked his noble and resplendent self. Of them all, even Horus proclaimed that Sanguinius was the best of them all, that he should have been Warmaster. It was something that the Angel of Baal always refuted. As Horus's closest brother and confidant, he felt his role best served as his brother's conscience.

"Greetings, Raven-Lord." Horus inclined his head. "What is wrong, brother?" The unasked question was why he had come here, yet remained cloaked and unannounced. The answer was that Corax needed to talk with one of his brothers about this, and Horus and Sanguinius were closest.

"Horus, Sang," Corax returned the greeting. "You might want to sit down, for I have something I need to discuss with you."

By the time he had finished his tale, his brothers were staring at him, jaws agape. Corax stepped back a little and, pressing a side rune, the armour they had retrieved came into the light of his brothers' views.

"Was he still alive, Cor?" Horus asked, using the affectation that his closest sons used in private. In that moment Corax finally felt his brother treating him as an equal, if only because for the first time Horus truly needed him.

"No, Horus. I gave him a warrior's funeral, and left him there with his fallen sons."

Horus closed his eyes.

"What happened to the Sons of Hades' gene-seed?" Sanguinius asked.

Corax shrugged. "I assumed it was destroyed or put in with Gulliman's stock."

Horus rubbed his brow. "The Emperor alone knows, and he will want it, I would if I were him. Cor, if you won't stay here, could you find out where our lost nephews' gene-seed is? We can't let it fall into their hands."

That, as it happened, was what he had planned anyway. "Especially if the rumours were to be believed," Corax added. "You can count on me, Warmaster… brother."

Horus smiled a little. "Fate be with you, Corax."

"And you, Horus."

Corax stepped back and returned to his seat. The rumours about the Sons' other abilities seemed to be true. On the field of battle, they could vibrate through reality itself and emerge behind enemy lines, making their attacks almost even more unpredictable and unstoppable. Corax did not want to think about what would happen if the Imperials got their hands on that ability.

He finally touched the runes on the side of the data packet and, as his genetic code was entered into the memory banks, the screen resolved itself, and Corax found himself reading the intimate thoughts of First Captain Cerona. He reclined and, once more, looked into the forgotten darkness of the first time Astarte had fought Astarte...


	4. Chapter Three

From a distance, the planet looked for all intents and purposes like a snowball wracked by occasional flashes of light. As the _Nightfall_ drew closer, it was a different story altogether. The planet was wreathed in hurricane clouds as far as the eye could see; the light show was massive, electrical storms raging as much as the hurricanes. Krieg Acerbus stood, watching the approach vector with nothing more than a blank look on his face. He was a hard man to read, known as the Axemaster; he was a true son of Nostramo who embraced his father's promotion with the violent zeal that he had always known. To be let loose on a world that lacked the ordered vision of his father was like a release valve, and when the Axemaster let loose, there was no forgiveness, no pity, but only the purity of order and justice. He had no idea why they had come here; the human that had been named a keeper of secrets had spent the last few days on the bridge beside the Primarch. Sevatar had also been present and seemed to have formed a friendship with the human. Krieg had little time for humans, except for one group; and as he left the bridge, he headed down to the Imperial Army barracks on the vessel.

They trained alone, separate from other baseline humans, often in the company of the Astartes, seeming to be chosen by the vaunted Second Captain as an attachment to his company. A hundred and twenty men and women, chosen for their skills and abilities, taken from the 54th Nostraman Infantry and renamed the Shadow Warriors, a name the Primarch himself had bestowed upon them after their camouflage skills had helped win a victory against the defenders of Astrana. The Astartes had been hemmed in by the guns on the battlements, and only the infiltration and brutal sabotage carried out by the original Shadow Warriors had prevented a massacre.

Curze had been impressed, so much so as to remove the unit from the Imperial Army and have them train with the Axemaster's Astartes - a dubious honour, perhaps, but Acerbus got along surprisingly well with them. They were given newly designed stealth armour, and their status was recognized as superior to their lowly former comrades, which some of those comrades had held against them to their own doom.

Lieutenant Elisbet Incara might have been attractive once. She was a tall woman with shorn black hair; a tattoo of a winged skull sat over her left eye, which itself was cybernetic after the original being lost in a bar fight. Years of fighting in extreme theatres of war had taken its toll on her looks over the years, and now she appeared to be the grizzled veteran of many firefights that she was. She was respected and beloved by the other Shadow Warriors, and even captain Cadence Justmier deferred to her battle skills. As much as the men of the company feared Justmier, they did not show him the same adoration as the lieutenant.

She was currently pounding a boxing bag; the sweat poured off her brow and had drenched her vest top, the sheen across her scarred chest making the scars stand out more. Krieg folded his arms and watched her for a moment or two; she reminded him, in this moment, of someone from his mortal days, a woman long since killed when the Legion and the Night Haunter restored order on Nostramo. Fortunately, Incara's violence was of a more restrained sort.

"Take a rest, Elisbet," he spoke.

She jumped, a little startled; she had been so engrossed in what she was doing she had not heard him approach. She moved to one knee immediately. "My apologies, lord, I did not see you there."

"Stand up, lieutenant, no need for that; honour is done."

Had it been anyone else, he would have left them on their knees, but she was almost an equal in his eyes. If the Emperor's plans for a warrior sisterhood went through, then he would insist that the woman before him became part of it. She had proved her devotion to the Emperor many times, but he was also aware that, like the other members of her squad, her first loyalty was to the Primarch.

He looked around and picked up her rifle, and tossed her it. "Practice time is over, Elisbet."

"Does the Primarch have a task for us, lord?"

Krieg nodded. "However, this is one task that cannot be written down in your honour rolls or stitched onto your company banner." He raised his hand to forestall any query. "Later. For now, it is enough that what you will do alongside us you do not only for the Night Haunter, but the Emperor as well."

She bowed deeply. "As you will it, Axemaster."

* * *

The _Hand of Deliverance_ translated into the system, keeping enough of a distance to stay hidden, with barely a ripple. This area of space was unknown to them and Captain Shierek had no idea why the Night Lords would be here. There were no Imperial settlements here to enforce the Imperial rule, and as far as the star charts explained nothing lived here.

Petrous Gadfran, one of the few remembrancers left aboard the Raven Guard vessel, stood beside Shierek. A tall woman, she looked elegant in her fine silken top and suede bottoms. Her blonde hair was tied back into a tight bun that made her slender face appear classical in its intensity. Her blue eyes watched the screen, still amazed that she had been asked to come to the bridge to advise the Astarte Captain. Shierek had asked her for one reason: her knowledge on the worlds of the Imperium was quite impressive. He assumed that she would take the post offered her by Corax himself as a lecturer when the civil war was over. For now, he wanted to make use of her education. He was a simple warrior, raised during the upheaval of Corax's rebellion against the overseers, and while he remembered his campaigns well he did not share Gadfran's encyclopedic knowledge.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he read Corax's latest missive. When the war was over, when balance had been restored, the Raven Guard would join with the Ultramarines and Space Wolves in their project for a second Imperium - but their first focus, for now, would be on the threat of Terra. Of course there had always been rumours that the Battle-King had been building up the worlds of Ultramar for that reason, crafting a second, hidden empire within an empire. Now, accidentally, that seemed to be becoming truth. That was, of course, if there was anything left of Ultramar after the Emperor's Children had finished with it. That campaign was not going so well, if reports were to be believed. He shook his head free of such maudlin thoughts; he had a job to do, and one of them was to find out why the Night Lords had come to an unpopulated system. He supposed it was to establish a colony for the Emperor, and if that was the case he would take it from them, but such a mission would not call for a Primarch's presence. Perhaps a highly classified project of some sort? A superweapon... that, they certainly couldn't leave be.

Uneses looked uneasy and Shierek did not know why. Ever since they had translated into the system, his usually stoic sergeant had taken himself to his arming chamber; to do what, he did not know. He would deal with that soon, but now he needed to know if Gadfran remembered anything about this system.

She bowed her head as he addressed her, and cleared her throat. "There are no records of here, lord, no mention of this system in my education. All I have is the auspex data. There are eight planets in the system, two gas giants, an ice world, a desert world, three dead worlds, and one fertile planet. The Planet of Storms, as it was named, was deemed unsuitable to colonise, for even with the Mechanicum's vast terraforming abilities, it was believed that the atmosphere could not be stabilized."

"And yet the Night Lords are heading there. Why, I wonder? Could the Emperor have changed his mind? Do the Mechanicum and their Iron Hand masters have some newfound way of calming the storms? And if so, what else could it be used for?" The captain spoke his thoughts aloud. He knew that there was not a world around that the Mechanicum could not tame, and if for some reason they had left that world alone, it was not the one the databanks listed. The same reason, in all probability, as the Night Lords' presence.

Uneses swallowed heavily and heaved a sigh. What did it matter now - the Night Lords were here, and all efforts made by the survivors had gone to nothing. "The Planet of Storms is its nickname," Uneses said, "but not its name. Its name is Urashan. It is the homeworld of the 11th Legion Astartes, the Storm Riders. My birth world."

* * *

Horus paced his private sanctum. As ever, his Mournival was in attendance. Sanguinius had returned to his ship, his own duties more urgent now since the message from Corax. This was what Horus had called his favoured sons to him for. This was what they needed to hear, for if what Corax had said was true, then the secrets of the two Lost Legions was being unceremoniously dumped into the void. If his father, his misguided and changed father, wanted to recapture the essence of the the two who were struck from the records, then every Primarch fighting with Horus needed to know this, no matter how much Russ would mislike it.

"Forgive me, Sire," Aximand frowned, "but are you saying the Raven-Lord found a lost Primarch?"

"That's exactly what I said." Horus leant against his mantle and stared out the window into space. "Charion, Primarch of the Sons of Hades, the Last Guardian... his body was found by Corax and by two of his captains, the brothers."

"Ah." Torgaddon nodded. "Agapito and Branne Nev, in Lord Corax's inner circle."

"And, as I am doing with you four, sworn to secrecy, although I need not get you to do that as I know our conversations are sacrosanct."

"That they are, lord." Loken bowed his head. "Was Lord Charion alive?"

Horus shook his head. "No, he has been dead a long time, even Primarchs can die. Especially when facing the Emperor's wrath; after all, he made us. Corax gave him a warrior's funeral, the right thing without doubt. But that is not the complete reason I called you here. Corax believes, as do Sanguinius and I, that the Emperor's forces are looking for traces of those two Legions, looking for survivors - or, perhaps, the gene-seed."

"But I was under the impression that any survivors went to Guilliman, and that any gene-seed found was destroyed," Abaddon frowned.

"So it appeared. We were gathered and given some of the neophytes and the scouts. Most of the other survivors swore allegiance to Guilliman and became Ultramarines, forbidden to speak of their creation. Those that did not follow the line laid to them, died. Angron and a couple of others snarled that it was unfair, that it overfavored the Ultramarines. So Malcador allowed us to bring two companies' worth into each of the other Legions, let them repent for the crimes of their fathers while continuing to serve. It appeased Angron, but the outcome was the same. Many refused to bow to another master, but the First Captains of both Legions told their brothers to accept the armistice."

"And, it was rumored, to silently fight on in their fathers' names," Abaddon muttered.

"I am sure they did, but they could never speak of it again. They were accepted into the ranks, and only the Primarchs received the full rolls of their true origins. I myself have spoken with them all over time, and all of them have stayed loyal to me, not the Emperor; in fact one of them stated that it felt like history repeating itself. And before you ask, Little Horus, I will give no names; they have earnt the right to be Luna Wolves and Sons of Horus. I am honouring their wish to be a part of something better, and even if I allow them to do some deeds in the name of their fathers,it will be silent."

The mighty Fifth Captain bowed to his father's wishes; he would not break Horus's word either but he already had an idea who they were. Still, he would not call them out on it; they had been brothers in arms and they would die Sons of Horus, no matter their genetics.

"My Lord," Loken asked, having been far from the Legion's upper circle in the time of the cull, "what exactly did the two Legions do that got them expunged?"

Horus's eyes grew dark and foreboding, a sign that there was shame and anger flying in his veins, although which was paramount, Loken could not tell. Neither vanished, though, as Horus's dark moods often did. The venom in Horus's voice remained overwhelming.

"They disagreed with the Emperor. They alone saw what he was doing, and they acted in their own ways to stop what the Emperor would become. Charion had warned about the Emperor's descent into evil, but he was silenced due to an act of pettiness on the Lion's part." Horus took the ale that Torgaddon gave him and stared into it, running his finger round the lip of the flagon. "As the Lion should have known, Charion's temperament would not brook insult against his honour, and a fight ensued, worse than the one between Curze and Dorn. When Charion refused to return to Terra and face the Emperor he was censured by the Fenrisians... Father ordered them culled, and that is what the Rout did. I bet Russ regrets that now."

"I know we have not always seen eye-to-eye with the Wolves, but I would agree to that, sire." Aximand nodded slowly. "In some ways this madness has wrought some good as well. Who would have thought, ten years ago or even five years ago, that the Wolves and Thousand Sons would be as close as they are now?"

Horus smirked dryly and drank some ale, savouring the harsh taste of Cthonian brew, before speaking again.

"Then, Adonnas. Primarch of the Storm Riders. They could have put the White Scars to shame, the way they rode those bikes into battle - not the raw speed, but the sheer coordination... But you remember that, you were on Ronomot. He had only recently been found, and had travelled with father for about three years. It was not often mentioned, but he was a potent Psyker, not one to rival Magnus but the strongest among us besides him. The last time I spoke to him, he said he had a warning, that Charion had been right. I never found out what it was.

"The Emperor declared that Adonnas and his sons had been corrupted by the power of the Warp, that their father's ability to bring down great storms to cover their advances was but a sign that he was no longer himself, that Urashan was a hive of warlocks that was tainted by the risks of psychic power, a threat to the entire Imperium.

"The Wolves of Fenris needed no more words, and neither did the World Eaters. He sent them both after the Riders, and so few of them survived, even compared to the Second... They were very thorough, in killing any possible psykers among them." Horus shook his head. "Adonnas's body was never found, although Angron claimed he cut it up and cast it to the storms of Urashan. The world was hidden away, cast off the galactic maps, and forgotten about. We were then called to a conclave on Terra, told what had happened, and told never to speak of it again. For decades, we didn't."

"I remember," Abaddon whispered. "You were very distant for a while."

"That was why. I had wondered, even then, what was so bad that they had to pay with their lives. A part of me believed what the Emperor had said; why wouldn't I? He was the Emperor, my father, always retaining the best intentions. But some part of me, the independent side, always wondered if there was more than he was telling, something he never wanted revealed. Now it seems that the long forgotten sons are calling out from their graves."

"Do you need us to aid Corax?" Torgaddon asked.

"Not yet. I am sure if he needs aid he will ask, but the Raven Guard would take issue with us otherwise, no matter that our relations are mending. No, this is what I want: have our spy network within the Imperial Legions try to find out something about all this. I'll tell Alpharius the same - hopefully he has more informants than us. The moment you get reports back from them, let me know, and I'll let Corax know. This is the best way to help him - Corvus wants to prove something to himself, and I am going to let him."

"I'll get on it right away." Loken got up

"And I want more scouts tracking the First and Eighth Legions."

"The Dark Angels and Night Lords?" Torgaddon asked. "Why?"

"Because Father will not want everyone knowing his plans, and these are the only Legions that could complete the mission without the others knowing. The Eighth, more likely, given the Lion's past issues with Charion. The Night Lords... they're capable of doing it, but if I know the bastards they'll leave an opening." Horus clenched his fist and said no more.

His sons left, but they were left with the feeling that the betrayal of the Night Lords' Primarch was the one that Horus felt deeply. He had been close to Curze, but now, it was as if he did not know him at all.


	5. Chapter Four

He paced the walls of the mighty, nearly world-spanning palace, his golden armour glinting in the watery sunlight. Those mortals who worked along the many miles of the Imperial Palace scuttled out of his way, not wanting to look upon the darkened face of the Regent. Where once he was revered as a hero amongst the heroes, a Primarch equal in affection to Sanguinius and Horus, his name exalted in high places, now he had become as feared as he was respected. His mighty, gold-clad warriors stood guard at every point on the wall, and those that were not guarding the governing center of mankind were guarding the surrounding systems, against the alien and, more relevantly, against the heretic.

His black-and-white-clad sons were feared in a different measure. Many human worlds feared the wrath of the Templars, for they were often sent to quell rebellion and when they did so, they did it without hesitation. According to the rumours, there were no innocents in their eyes, only the children were spared, to become the future of the Templars, Imperial Fists and Custodes. Lord High Marshal Sigismund, it was said, was the exemplar of the creed of the Templars. The former First Captain of the mighty Imperial Fists, brash and headstrong, would face any enemy head-on, charge into impossible situations, and come out on top, no matter what the stature of the enemy. It had been whispered that Angron was holding Sigismund as an example of his own doctrines.

Dorn was nonplussed about all this, even though the official reports were rather more restrained than the wild rumours he couldn't help overhearing. Nevertheless, he acknowledged the Black Templars' work as necessary. Sigismund was purposefully reckless, but to the Praetorian's way of thinking, he had never been defeated, so that recklessness had not surmounted acceptability. All in all, his intense belief in the Emperor and his son made him not only the ideal choice to be the Emperor's Champion, but the Chapter Master of a Chapter designed wholly around the edicts of the Imperial Creed. But most of all, Sigismund was not one for sitting back while the Imperium burned, even to defend Terra, and neither were the Astartes that Dorn had placed under his command. It was for that reason that the Black Templars had been sent on permanent crusade, to root out out the heretic legions of his brothers who would not follow their father. So far the Templars had succeeded abundantly in this mission.

Despite this, Dorn was changing. He did not follow any one Chaos God, and truth be told he followed none of them. They held nothing for him: he did not hold truck with any daemons and he despised the idea of one of his sons becoming one of them. Let Lorgar and the others deal with the denizens of the Warp, but the only masters his sons would have were the Emperor, himself, and their superiors.

But at night, he was plagued by dreams, dreams that would have him waking in a cold sweat, A being that was undefinably unlike anything he had before seen whispered words into his mind, telling him that he was more than his father, more than those brothers who fed their souls to Chaos. He was something more than that, it said, with the potential to become the greatest scion of the future. It would be a world without Chaos, without the games of power, a world which he could craft according to his will. He would wake bolting with the face of the being that was neither name or beast in his eyes, half black and half white. The name had not been revealed to him, but he was not sure he wanted to know, for fear that it would drive him deeper into the presence's madness.

He stood on the ramparts and overlooked Albia, a land from which some of his own sons had come, and he pulled his cloak around himself. The day was a poor one - cold, wet, and windy - and the year was little better. Rogal Dorn did not like the way this was turning out, he did not like the idea of daemons being part of the Legions, and some part of him couldn't help but think his father had gone about this transformation the wrong way. Now, if his own spies were to be believed, Curze was off on some secret mission into a zone long since forbidden. To do what, he did not know, but it was at his father's command, and that was enough.

The voice echoed in his mind once more, telling him that like himself, Curze did not truck with daemons. He had no time for the Chaos Gods, for he did not care; he was a renegade, not from the Imperium but from the universe, and in that perhaps the two brothers were more alike than they cared to believe. It was a subtle thought but one that, for once, Dorn did not laugh at or dismiss out of hand. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, deep in thought. He cared little for the pantheon, he was a warrior and the lord of Terra... but then, what mattered was not what he wanted to be but what he had to be.

And what he had to be was something to balance out the power play...

* * *

The Planet of Storms was aptly named. Electrical storms lashed the skies like some neon dance, every now and then striking out to touch the land below, sending electrical sparks rolling away. Hurricane-force winds battered the land and seas into a constant frenzy and, as the Stormbird decked in the midnight blue and single-winged skull icon of the Night Lords flew overhead, lightning sparked off its hull in places, making it look more fearsome then it already did.

It circled the area that it had been ordered to scout out and descended into a rock-covered valley. The shipmaster had pinpointed this area as the only place he could find with some shelter from the ferocity of the storms. As such, it was the closest place to safe for the Shadow Warriors to move about without fear of being electrocuted or blown into the jagged rocks that littered the landscapes.

The Shadow Warriors moved into protective positions, areas that were safe enough for them but that retained a view of their surroundings. They heard the whine of another Stormbird but did not break their concentration. Only when they were certain that all was clear did they focus their attention on the Stormbird as it landed. As the occupants alighted, they moved to one knee and bowed their heads, not daring to look until ordered.

The Axemaster came down first, his bolter swinging left and right, followed by the Prince of Crows, and finally came the master of the night himself. A small contingent of the Second Company followed them. Incara kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground, her heart hammering in her chest, and when a claw lightly touched her shoulder she thought she might faint at the honour.

"Rise, my child," the voice softly spoke. "You and your warriors need not bow in my presence, for you are mine."

Incara and her squad rose to their feet and straightened themselves up. Their left arms came across their breastplates in salute before they stood at ease.

"We are in the right area, First Captain?" The Primarch turned his attention to his favoured son.

"According to the historian, aye, lord." Sevatar nodded and looked around, tutting under his breath as he ordered the last member of the landing team to get out here. Uncertainly, the terrified man emerged. He wore protective armour, but to Incara and her squad, he looked like prey surrounded by predators.

Polarick had never been here, never set foot on any of Urashan's rocky soil, but as he came onto the surface of the planet of storms his mind was assaulted by memories that were not his. It was these memories that had forced him to live in a world of seclusion, never staying in one place for fear of being thrown into a mad house or captured by those out for revenge. Unlike the Sons of Hades, not every loyal son of the Storm Riders had died, and not all the survivors had joined the Legions of their uncles. Where the Storm Riders might have vanished to, not even the Emperor knew, but over the years his father and father's father had the uncanny feeling they were being watched or followed. That did nothing to ease their lives.

Curze cocked his head a little as the human fell to his knees, his hands to his head, mouth wailing. Had the mortal gone mad? What was he seeing here that was causing him such distress? Incara and Captain Justmier helped the Keeper of Shadow stand. Krieg glanced at the Captain. She was a brave woman, no matter that her lieutenant often had field command. Justmier was not a youngster any more, after all, and Incara was her protégée. She was handing the reigns over and preparing to fight her last. He had to respect her for that self-awareness.

"Pull yourself together, man," Justmier snarled. "You are in the presence of the master of the night himself. Do not soil yourself in his presence or I will cut out your spleen and make you eat it!"

The First Captain chuckled as his hearing picked up what she had just said, even though she had all but whispered it in Polarick's ear.

"The images," he moaned. "I cannot take it!"

"You will endure," she barked. "You are human, not some snivelling xeno cretin; enduring it will make you stronger!"

"What images?" the Primarch ordered. "Tell me what you see!"

Polarick whimpered and almost lost his footing once more. If it were not for the two women holding him he might well have. A painful squeeze on his arm made him yelp. Incara had no time for snivellingm whiners. The only reason she did not kill him where he stood was because he was important to the Night Haunter. Polarick yelped, but the pain shooting up his arm made his fear retreat for a moment. His eyes glazed over white and the two Shadow Warriors let go, backing away for a moment, their pistols raised, believing themselves in the presence of a witch. Acerbus steadied them and shook his head.

 **++Easy, sisters; he is no witch, not in the sense you understand. He is a keeper of the Emperor's greatest secret, his mind altered to accommodate the information he has been passed.++**

The two women relaxed, but they were still uneasy around the now taller-standing Polarick. Curze folded his arms across his chest. He may not have been as broad as Angron or Russ, and his whole physiology made him look nearer death than even his brother Mortarion, but he still cut a powerful figure. Black hair framed pale features, deep eyes held the promise of endless torment for those who opposed him, and he stood with all the pride befitting a son of the Emperor. Yet even here, watching the silenced mortal, he was struck by the sheer power that glowed around the man. Certainly his father knew what he was doing to the line of Fenrisians who bore this burden. He certainly understood the madness that came with it. Polarick was young for a human, but he would age quickly. In a way, he hoped the mortal had no children to pass this onto, for they would certainly endure the same life their sire had. To be blunt about it, that was no life for a mortal who was neither psyker nor Astarte.

He waited patiently as the human walked around the clearing, seemingly guided by whatever he was seeing in his head. Polarick was searching for something... no, not searching... watching. It was like he was a scout watching, and watching of all things the skies above as the storm struck its fury once more. He walked around, touching the cliff-face behind them, before suddenly stopping. Moving his hand over a lever, he opened a door in the rock.

"They retreated through here. They needed to get to their Primarch, to protect him from the Eater of Worlds and his hounds." Polarick's voice sounded distant. "The Eater of Worlds wanted to claim their father's head before the Wolf King. The Wolf King was calling for surrender, while the Eater of Worlds wanted only death and blood."

Sevatar glanced at his father. "It would seem Angron has been keeping secrets himself."

"So it would seem, my son," Curze mumbled. "So it would seem... let's move. Get the Shadow Warriors out of this storm. We will be lucky, they might not be so."

* * *

Uneses watched his captain pace his quarters. He paused a couple of times to look at his sergeant, then resumed his pacing. He had sent a message to the Raven-Lord of what had happened, and was told to hold position. That was just as well, becausse it was clear Uneses and his revelation that he had been born on that seething world of storms had shocked Shierek to the core.

"You were a Storm Rider?" he finally asked. Uneses nodded but said nothing. "You were a rider of storms, the Legion that betrayed the Emperor!"

"We did not betray the Emperor," Uneses barked. "He betrayed us."

"Well, we're all at war with him now either way, so it's not like it matters. How did he do that?"

"He -" Uneses swallowed his anger. "I am forbidden to speak of it."

"And he does well not to." Both Astartes turned to see Corax come into the captain's chamber and immediately moved to one knee. He bid them rise and closed the door behind him. "Where are the Night Lords?"

"Planet surface, lord," Shierek told his father.

"Then get a team together; let's give my brother a surprise he won't forget. Uneses, a word in private."

"Yes, my lord."

Corax waited until they were alone and turned to face the former Storm Rider. "I want to know everything you know about that day, no holding back; the future of all we know will depend on it. I want to know where the secrets of the Riders are kept, fast. Believe me, my son, if Curze gets there first, then this current madness will grow worse still."

Uneses swallowed. "On one condition, Uncle." Corax arched an eyebrow. "I go with you. I want to save my legacy and my home from that crawling death-dealer."

Corax nodded and folded his arms across his chest. "Certainly. Now begin."

* * *

Shierek moved through the barracks a little annoyed. Of course it was an honour to have the Raven-Lord aboard his vessel, but why was he not informed of the Primarch's arrival, to have time for a suitable welcome, or at least an unsuitable one? Surely someone had the wits about them to inform the master of the ship that someone as vaunted as Corvus Corax was aboard his ship. This was the Primarch of the Raven Guard, for crying out loud... you could not mistake him for a normal Astarte.

"Corax never breaks protocol, not like this," he spoke aloud. "What idiot didn't tell me the Primarch was aboard?"

"He didn't want anyone to know he was aboard until it was too late to do anything about it." A deep voice behind him made him stop and turn, realizing in an instant just how distracted he was. Branne Nev stepped out of the shadows and stood before the Captain of the 61st Company.

"My lord." The beleaguered captain bowed his head at the presence of the Second Captain, one if Corax's inner circle.

"Forget that, Anteau, let's walk." The two men fell into step. "I apologise on behalf of our father; he does not like leaving his sons in the dark, but with a Night Lords vessel nearby, he could not risk them being alerted to his presence by radio chatter. We came in maximally cloaked, to the far side of the moon, and teleported across. A most... disconcerting way to travel, I must say."

Shierek shook his head. "Branne, what is going on?"

The Second Captain glanced at Shierek, and his voice took on a solemn cadence. "Digging up old ghosts and preventing their memories and sacrifices from being used for the cause of madness."

* * *

Uneses was silent for a long time. Corax let him gather his thoughts. He was returning to a place in his memories that he had been forbidden to return to. Corax felt for his adopted son, for his whole life and identity had been changed yet again.

"The people of Sturmgarten, or Urashan as others of its inhabitants called it, lived deep within cave complexes, like those on Calth. The weather patterns make it too dangerous to remain above ground for too long. When there are seasonal breaks, there are months of peace, enough to grow a harvest, but the storms always return.

"The seas swirl with the anger of the storms and the lightning strikes with more voltage than some gas giants. When Adonnas landed here, he should have been struck dead by the storms, but instead he seemed to absorb the lightning and calm the weather. Now I know that it was his own psychic abilities; he was what I suppose others, in days past, would call a shaman." Uneses shrugged and paused. Corax waited for the sergeant to continue - he knew the beginning of Adonnas's story already, but he knew Uneses needed time to center his thoughts on the matter at hand.

"He tamed our people, carved out a great underground city safe from every aspect of the storms. He brought the clans under one banner and he ruled as a warlord, worthy of our love and respect, so when the Emperor came it was only natural that we in turn would follow the father of our father. We would do so for less than two decades."

"So were Adonnas and Charion of the same opinion?" Corax asked. "Is that why they rebelled against the rule of the Emperor?"

"I cannot answer that question, lord. My father and Lord Charion only ever met twice. Once on the field of battle against the Inargur; the second time in private, behind closed doors, without their bodyguards. What I do know is that, after that meeting, my lord was wary around the Emperor, even before the Sons of Hades were purged, though he never spoke out against the Emperor in public."

Corax nodded and rubbed his jaw. "So what happened the day of the banishment?"

Uneses wrung his hands and, for the first time in a long time, sorrow for his old brothers crossed his face. "The Wolf King told us to lay our arms down, for our father to come peacefully. He did not want it ending the same way it had with the Sons of Hades. My father told Lord Russ that he was the one mistaken, that the Emperor was a being who was long corrupt, in times before even the Primarchs' existence, when Terra was more than she is now."

"What did he mean?"

"I do not know, Lord Corax. The Wolf King did not have a chance to answer, because the Red Angel himself came to ground. He said he was taking command and, if the Storm Riders did not surrender, then we would all be executed to the last man and serf for violating the Emperor's edicts - we had not, then, even been told which ones. The Wolf King was incensed by this usurpation of what he saw as his mission, but it would not do at that point to show any disagreement between the two brothers."

Corax knew that too, and he could only imagine the emotions coursing through the Wolf King at Angron's words. Russ was a proud man, a warrior directed by his code of honour and his strength of arms. There was no love lost between the Wolves of Fenris and the World Eaters; what they had in common was the fact they were exterminators. Both Legions were sent in when there was minimal diplomacy to be had.

"So how did those who were amalgamated into the other legions survive?"

"The Chapter Novitiates, Scouts, and younger Astartes were told to surrender into the hands of the Wolf King. I was also told by the First Captain to go; I did not want to, for despite my youth I bore the ape sigil of the First Company, but First Captain Klyne told me that some of us have to survive, to remember the legacy and fight for the Legion's honour, even if we were forbidden to talk of it. Six thousand of us were amalgamated into other Legions. The rest died on Sturmgarten. I watched as my father, having trapped Russ and his vanguard with a rockfall, was struck through by Angron, a fist clean through his chest, his hearts clenched in the Red Angel's bloody fist. Not even a Primarch can survive that."

"No," Corax whispered. "No, we could not... not most of us, at least."

"The inner sanctum was closed with the Apothecaries and gene-techs inside. Nothing the other Legions could do would open the doors, so it was bombed from orbit. They thought it was over, but it wasn't, not really. You see, the inner sanctum was the most secure area of the fortress, for that was where the gene-seed was stored. The Emperor knew that, lord."

"So Adonnas was not Warp-tainted?"

"No!" Uneses forcefully said, the love for his murdered father coming to the fore. Corax said nothing, letting Unseses draw in a deep breath and calm his choler. "Forgive me, my lord; I bear no spite against you, nor against any of the Primarchs. The Emperor lied to you all that Adonnas was, in effect, Warp-tainted, using it as an explanation for the Storm Riders' agility and coordination, whether on foot, on bike, or in the air. We were a Legion newly reborn, the sheer elation of what we were capable of... but Adonnas saw deeper than that fierce joy and pride in the Great Crusade. In truth, Captain Klyne told me, the Emperor was not as he had seemed. Perhaps it was Charion who had given Adonnas that idea, perhaps it was the petty wars against slights to his rule. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the Imperium of Man can only be created with absolute power in the hands of the Emperor, no freedom except the freedoms he offers. As Astartes we do as we are ordered, but the Primarchs have always seen further than we can.

"After Charion's execution, Adonnas had searched through pasts and futures with his psychic sight, and learned whatever secrets he held onto regarding the Emperor. He did not speak about what he had found, but he was ready to coordinate the defense of Sturmgarten when the hour came, without hesitation, even though there had been no warning. So were his inner circle. We left behind our fortifications and danced through the winds, but against two Legions at once we were outmatched - that became clear all too soon. Adonnas had almost convinced the Wolf King to parlay, after trapping him, but Angron... he did not want to waste the opportunity to take a brother Primarch's head. How else was he to prove to his father that his sons were prepared to do whatever the Emperor ordered?"

"Sounds to me like Father was looking to see if the incident at Desh'ea had been forgotten," Corax muttered, more to himself.

Every Primarch knew that Angron had little love for the Emperor, yet it was the Twelfth that had been chosen to reinforce the Rout at Urashan. But that was a conundrum for another time. It was clear that his father wanted the gene-seed of both lost Legions - too clear, perhaps. Was something else stewing? Corax didn't know and did not especially want to know. Either way, he had to stop the Night Lords from carrying out their mission.

He motioned with his head and Uneses followed him out. It was time to lay some ghosts to rest, and time to create new ones. Corax had no intentions of letting the Night Haunter leave Urashan with the essence of a butchered brother. And, some part of his subconscious noted despite his attempts to suppress the dark thought, he would prefer if Curze didn't leave the planet of storms at all.


	6. Chapter Five

The master of the night moved with his chosen sons. By now, the rest of his inner circle had joined him. He had no conscious idea what he was walking into and yet, on some level, instinct guided him. If Konrad Curze had any apprehension about walking into the ruined fortress of a slain brother, the Night Haunter did not. More and more, the two sides of his personality were becoming separate entities. One side of him wanted order but not at the cost of his soul, while the other side wanted order no matter what.

Fear was a great weapon, both sides knew, a multipurpose tool to be wielded whenever it was necessary. It was also a deterrent; many worlds that had been brought into the Imperium courtesy of the Night Lords never forgot that lesson. Fear was not something that Curze worried about: no Astarte knew fear, and Primarchs were more elevated still. But here and now, he was gripped by the sense of desperation that had flooded the walls of this monastery. He knew what Adonnas had once achieved here. A world ravaged by storms, Feral before the Primarch's arrival, coming to have a populace able to sustain a Legion fortress, as well as the know-how to construct it, while also contributing to the growing Imperium in other ways. There were only two Imperial Army regiments that had been raised from this world, but they had more than proved their worth in war. If Curze recalled correctly, they flourished in underground campaigns such as Tolmar and Recnos.

He had admired them, not just for their tenacity but for their successes. That was something that had ended when their master fell from grace and they fell with him. Curze tried to recall what his brother looked like, and found it hard to do so, which concerned him a little; all Primarchs had near-perfect recall of everything they had ever seen or read. Curze had met Adonnas only three times, but once should have been enough to never forget. Now he found it hard to even picture him. The Emperor's meddling in his sons' memories, to ensure his edict was obeyed? Or a creeping degeneration of his own mind?

He shook it off him and drank in the fear of the serfs and novitiates that had died in this place. It was – intoxicating, and he revelled in it. Sevatar, like his brothers, also could feel and sense the cloying emotion. It was what they all thrived on; they were the Night Lords, after all.

"How many died here?" Malithos Kuln, the Captain of the 9th Company and a member of the Kyroptera, wondered aloud. "It is... wonderful."

Sevatar glanced across at him. Some of his brothers fed off the fear like an addict on drugs; but although it stirred the wanting in him, he had it under control. He was the First Captain and the favourite son of the Night Haunter; therefore he had to be above his brothers. There were others who would love to take his place, Zso Sahaal being one of them. Ambition in the Legions was not unheard-of. Any sign of weakness on his part would leave him open to attack from within. Abaddon may have been the most feared First Captain amongst the Astartes, Kharn and Sigismund the most violent, Kaesoron and Ahriman the most learned - but Sevatar had his own reputation amongst the Legions, and he was not about to let that falter for the sake of a fleeting moment of drinking in the fear.

"Almost an entire Legion," Acerbus replied.

"Almost?" Kuln fought to keep his voice steady.

"Those that survived the cull were brought into other Legions. But I think it is safe to say that the upper echelons of the Storm Riders' power all died here." Acerbus stretched.

Curze remained silent, the walls provoking memories that were not his. The screams of the dying, the shouts of the defenders as they fought against the savagery of the Wolves and the Hounds... Sevatar noticed his father's expression and glared at his brothers for silence. It did not matter that the sons of Adonnas had died here, it mattered that they died and they died as warriors. He was conveying his displeasure at their lack of respect to a fallen Legion.

"They do not deserve our respect," Acerbus voiced to his First Captain's unspoken words. "They betrayed the Emperor."

"Enough!" Curze barked. "They paid for the crime. It matters not: they died here, and with them my brother. Silence, Krieg; check on the Shadow Warriors."

Cowed into silence, Acerbus bowed his head and spoke into his internal vox. Sevatar walked alongside his father and switched to internal private vox. **++Acerbus is one to watch, father; I hear that he has made pacts with...++**

 **++I am aware of his actions, my son++** Curze assured. **++I am dealing with it++**

Sevatar nodded once. **++Did he suffer?++**

 **++Who?++**

 **++Your brother, lord; did he suffer?++**

Curze stopped and touched one of the walls. He closed his eyes and was silent for a long time.

 **++Yes++** Curze quietly said and continued his walk.

Silence fell once more.

* * *

The Raven Guard made their way deep into the hollows of the fallen fortress-monastery. Corax allowed Uneses to lead them, for after all this was a homecoming for him, if not one that he would have wished for. Although the others could not see it in the deep darkness, Corax read every emotion that crossed his adopted son's face perfectly.

Every shattered cell they passed caused a pang of grief to flow through the sergeant. Memories that seemed to be from a distant age flowed through his brain like it was only yesterday, instead of many decades ago. The Raven Guard kept a respectful silence; no matter the crimes or perceived crimes, their cousins had died here by the thousand.

They exited the corridor to come into a large arena. It must have been glorious in its day, but now it was a collapsed ring of shattered stands and seating. Megalithic columns, raised to the glory of the Primarch, lay in pieces like a scattered jigsaw.

"I was here the day it happened," Uneses spoke quietly.

"Why?" Corax asked.

"I had suffered a serious injury in our last battle, one that my own healing needed aid with. The Apothecary decided I needed to be on light duties for a time, so my captain told me to show our newly raised brothers what it meant to be a warrior. I had been here for four hours, teaching, observing, correcting, just as my former mentor had done to me; and that was when all hell broke loose."

"Tell me." Corax rested a hand on his sergeant's shoulder. "I want you to confide in me, my son."

Uneses took a deep breath and moved to the centre of the ring. The other members of the Raven Guard circled their Primarch and watched their brother as he made his way to where he had been that day.

Uneses stopped and looked down. Then, he crouched down and removed his helm with a hiss. Touching his hand to the dust-laden floor, he brushed it and closed his eyes as he saw the ancient stain that littered the floor. It had long since dried into the stone, but the mark of blood was still there.

"There had been fifty newly raised brothers here. All had their strengths and their weaknesses, not yet come through the fires into becoming a full brother, but experienced enough as scouts to know what was expected of them, and what they had to work on to make them true Storm Riders. The First Captain wanted me to pick out the best for bike duty, those that showed the aptitude to ride our storm-mounts; eventually all would get that honour, but for the moment only a dozen would be chosen."

Uneses looked upwards and pointed. His face became an angry snarl and none of the Raven Guard doubted the emotions that played through their adoptive brother's mind. It was like an infection, and his reaction spread to them all, except, that is, the Primarch.

"The Wolves and Hounds came through the ceiling. They had bombed the site from orbit and made enough of a hole to get through... Half of my pupils were cut down by the World Eaters before they even had a chance to recover, and I ordered the rest back to allow us to regroup. I remember cutting down a Wolf who would have taken my shoulder off if my pauldron had not been there.

"The serfs that had been watching the practise were shot or told to kneel with their hands behind their heads by the World Eaters' Captain, a man named Sagroth. He killed everyone who refused his order, disembowelled them without a thought. That was when I noticed that the World Eater had these things in his head... even the Wolves avoided him, maybe he smelt wrong, I do not know, I just know that those things in his head, which I now know to be the Nails but didn't at the time, made him revel in the death and destruction he wrought.

"I killed him with my bare hands, giving my charges time to escape and regroup with the battle-brothers that had been practising in their own practise chambers. It gave us a chance to get our bearings. We were aware of how the sons of Russ fought, but we had not encountered the Red Angel's sons before. Their barbarity and their violence outstripped even what the Wolves were capable of. Most of them were even worse than Sagroth, it turned out - the others killed the humans that worked here without a thought. The corridors swam in blood and they barely gave us a chance to get an opposition organised. But we did, and when we fought back and had recovered from the surprise attack, we fought as we should have from the start. We used our knowledge of the fortress-monastery to our advantage."

"Guerilla tactics," Branne mused. He could appreciate that, like his brother and other members of the old guard - it was a tactic that had served them well in the revolution to free Deliverance. "I suspect Russ and Angron thought a direct attack would work."

"Aye, keep the Storm Riders off guard," Agapito agreed. "It's a tactic that I would have used."

"It might have worked too, if they had not been divided," Captain Tordan Cereck of the 13th sighed. "We all know that Angron does not work well with others, especially with Russ."

Uneses nodded, but his mind was lost in the swirl of his memories, so he only really half-heard what his battle-brothers were saying. "We used the old tunnels to our advantage, killed scores of them, as many as they killed of us. But we were too outnumbered, and were forced to the surface, where we reunited with the greater Legion. What followed was a series of feints, subtle jabs back and forth, for a brief time. I was near my lord's battle zone when I heard Russ proclaim that the Storm Riders had fought well and honourably, that there was no more need for this sacrifice, if only Adonnas would surrender. My father was incensed: his home, his sons, and his people had been cut down for no other reason then they did not agree with the Emperor. That was when my captain, First Captain Klyne, told me to take the surviving brothers, Novitiates and Serfs and surrender. It was Adonnas's order. I wanted to be with my father, serve him till the end, but he told me himself, if there was ever to be a day of reckoning for this crime, then some of us needed to survive to enact that revenge." Uneses bowed his head "How could I disobey my father? Even though every single fibre of my being told me, no screamed at me, to stay where I was, to fight to the end. I only heard of that end relayed to me from the front, as, drop by drop of Storm Rider blood, my brothers were cornered, and in the end, though Adonnas gave his all, it proved not enough."

Corax saw his nephew hang his head and walked over to him. He crouched down beside him; even at this level he still towered over the Sergeant. He rested a hand on his shoulder and lowered his head.

"My son, you have done as your sire requested and more than that. You have done as you were asked, not talking about it, keeping that day secret from others, as I asked you to when you came to me. Now it is time for the son of Adonnas to enact his own revenge, not alone, but with his brothers by his side."

Uneses raised his head and met the Raven-Lord's gaze, his eyes bloodshot from the tears he was shedding.

"My twin brother died that day, lord, as did my blood cousin. I saw the World Eaters cut them all down in showers of blood and guts. If I can take a slice of that anger with me to the Night Lords then I would have done my duty, as a grieving brother and cousin, and above all, one last time, as a scion of Sturmgarten and a Storm Rider."

Corax nodded. "You are also a Raven Guard; never forget that, Patria Uneses." He squeezed the Astarte's shoulder. "Come, we need to get to the central chamber before Curze does."

Uneses nodded and, bowing his head, he stood to his feet. He got his bearings and unslung his bolter. "This way, my lord."

* * *

Acerbus Krieg listened to what had been relayed to him and cursed in colourful Nostraman, He moved himself swiftly alongside the First Captain and stopped him.

"They have been seen," he quietly spoke.

"Who?" Sevatar was a little irritated by the intrusion into his thoughts, thoughts that extended to the deaths of thousands of cousins for a cause he was not sure he entirely believed in.

He loved his father and his loyalty was always to his father, along with the Emperor; but the idea that some of his brothers and cousins sought to make nice with demons sat uneasy on him. He wanted to take those who would make such deals for power and glory, and make them suffer for their folly. The Night Haunter had expressly forbid such dalliances, but he was aware that there were some who would take that path just to make them more powerful. Krieg was one of them. All Sevatar had to go on was rumours and half-truths, but it was enough that it had already come to his father's ears to know that the mighty Night Haunter was already making a plan, one that he had not sought to enlighten his First Captain on, but one that he ultimately thought necessary.

"The Raven Guard are here, my lord, Corax himself leading them."

Sevatar heaved a sigh. "Shit."

"Permission to join the Shadow Warriors and see off this problem?"

Sevatar looked around him and nodded. "Take Kuln, Nakara and Herek with you, and their men. Follow the Raven Guard and, if necessary, confront them, but not unless it is paramount to our operation here."

"Who informs the Dark King?"

"I will, in a few moments. Now go and tell the Shadow Warriors to stay in the shadows, out of sight of the Raven and his minions. We all know how well Corax sees in the dark...as good as us."

"We Nostramans are better," Krieg proudly snarled.

"And you are a fool to underestimate the Raven-Lord, Krieg. Now go before I change my mind." As far as Sevatar was concerned, Acerbus's mission was as like as not to kill the Second Captain, but he wasn't about to stop him. The other captains would retreat when necessary.

Acerbus bowed his head and, taking the other three Kyroptera members with him, disappeared down the way they had just come. Although they went midnight-clad, Sevatar had a feeling that they would learn that where against other foe their stealth might work, against the Raven Guard it would not.

He breathed in deeply and once more resumed his pace beside his father. He told him what Acerbus had told him. The Primarch did not look overly perturbed by this unwanted turn of events. In fact it was like he had expected it. Had he foreseen it? Sevatar was aware that his father had suffered his waking nightmares more than normal lately, especially since the Emperor had granted them this mission. He had told his favoured son about them, death on wings of black. Sevatar was not so sure about the wings of black, but from the other description it sounded an awful lot like Corax. Who else could take his father by surprise? Only one who knew the night as well as the Night Haunter. Regardless, when he opened a private channel to his father and relayed the information to him, Curze turned to face him, and the smile that hit his face was a grim one, but one that told Sevatar he already knew Corax was here.

The First Captain did not like this, not one bit. This was going to go wrong; he could feel it, and if he felt it, then Curze did so a hundredfold. The Primarch carried on, pausing only to consult with the human, before moving in the direction the terrified man pointed out.

* * *

These corridors were a maze of broken tunnels, crashed rock and collapsed ceilings. Skeletons of humans and Astartes alike littered the floors. The armour was corroded, but he could make out the faint markings of a World Eater here, a Wolf there, a Storm Rider over there. Sahaal shook his head a little as the scattered remnants of the carnage stared back accusingly at them. The captain was not by nature a superstitious man, that was best left in the domain of humans, but there was something about treading in this place that was wrong, above and beyond the violation of treading on the bodies of the dead (something he had done often enough). He could understand the bodies of the Storm Riders laying where they fell, and their human servants and serfs. But he could not understand why the bodies of the World Eaters and Space Wolves had not been collected. He expressed such an opinion to Vacanas Bolderious, the Justice Bringer and Captain of the lauded Twelfth Company.

The moody and stern-faced Astarte knelt down by one of the remains and checked the body over. "The gene-seed was taken," he rumbled. "My guess is they removed the gene-seed but did not have time to move the bodies. Maybe the ceiling collapsed before they could return to retrieve their honoured dead."

"This place feels wrong." The Talonmaster shook his head. "There was a reason this world was removed from the star charts."

"Aye, brother. Worry not, I know that you are not given to flights of fancy where superstition is concerned; I feel it too. It is not fear, but the echoes of the dead. The Storm Lords were witches, after all," the Justice Bringer remarked.

"The sooner we are away from here, the better I will feel," Sahaal mused. "This is a place of death and dishonour, I am not comfortable here my friend."

"Quiet," Sheng hissed. "We are Night Lords; those are the feelings of mortals, not us."

"Forgive us, Equerry, it is just the history of this place."

"Talonmaster, I understand that such a battle stirs feelings like that, but this is a place of the dead and the damned. Under the Emperor's command it was thus made, and under the Emperor's command we are here. Still." Sheng stared at the half dust claimed remains. "It would not hurt to remember the dead."

The three Astartes saluted the remains, not sure if they were saluting a brother Legion or a renegade one from either era. In this place, it was hard to tell the difference.

* * *

Polarick stopped where he was walking as he came to a crossroad of corridors. Closing his eyes, he dragged up the information that had been handed down to him from his forefathers, and after checking the walls and reading the time-worn markings, he bowed before Curze.

"This way leads to the throne room, Sire."

"And from there?" Curze asked.

"From there, a hidden passageway to the inner chamber."

"Then lead on, my friend. This will soon be over, for all of us."

The remaining Astartes became aware that their own mixed emotions had conveyed themselves to the Primarch. He had said nothing because he may have, on some level, felt their trepidation. Whilst death held no fear for him, and fear and darkness were his greatest allies, he was also aware of the constraints such a place held for soldiers and his sons. They were stepping over the bones of Astartes, and Warp-tainted Astartes at that, from an age that seemed long gone now. He did not doubt his sons' bravery, nor their ability to manipulate the fear of others to their needs, but he also understood that a place such as this held unforeseen poignancy now. And, above all, he knew that he had felt another presence within these walls - not Corax, but a less controlled anger, a warrior-god angry at the fate of his sons.

If Konrad shut his eyes, he believed he saw the angered visage of his brother Adonnas, even in death swearing to wreak bloody revenge on those responsible for his Legion's demise.

 _Well, brother, the Emperor may have enacted such an order, and Russ and Angron carried it out, but it was Malcador who first brought your name to father. He is dead, so part of your revenge has been sated. The truth is, brother, that I want to allow your sons to live again, walking a path they were destined to walk. And this time, you will not be there to corrupt them.  
_

A shiver ran through the Lord of the Night and suddenly, and without warning, one of his visions hit him full-on, causing him to lose his balance and have to be supported by Sevatar and Sheng...

 _The central chamber loomed before them. The Emperor, in all his golden glory, stood before it, beside him Malcador and Constantin Valdor, behind them the Apothecaries and Mechanicum priests._

 _"Did the Sons of Hades' gene-seed arrive?" the Emperor wanted to know, his voice echoing around the chamber._

 _Before him lay the body of his second son. Nevertheless, the Emperor seemed to show no reaction to the sight of one of his own sons dead before him._

 _"We have it, my liege, ready to be transported down at your command," Malcador explained._

 _"Then do it, and seal this chamber with him in it. Then wipe the planet from the star charts. Only we shall remember it."_

 _The tech priests took the gathered Storm Rider gene-seed into the chamber and the door was closed behind them, whether they were prepared or not, Curze feeling their shock at such an action. The Emperor, however, had no qualms about locking them in there. He knew he could trust Malcador, Valdor and both Primarchs to the secrecy of this place, but he was not prepared for the tech-priests to blab to their masters on Mars about it. They were archaeologists of the lost, and he did not want this place found, ever._

 _Curze was out of sync with time, almost as if he was there but not there. No one could see him, but he saw the expression on the Wolf King's face, one of barely hidden hate at the Red Angel and confusion at his father._

 _Leman understood why Adonnas had to die, intellectually if not emotionally;_ maleficarum _was no small matter. But he certainly did not like surprises, especially having his mission snatched from him by the unstable Angron. He would have a talk with his father about that when they were alone, but for now, the Wolf King remained silent as they moved out of the central chamber and sealed it off forever._

Curze came out of his trance, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. Sevatar and Sheng held him whilst Sahaal tipped a water flask to his father's lips. Curze gulped the water like a dying man and eventually came back to his senses.

"How long?" he hoarsely asked.

"One hour and twenty-two minutes," Sevatar replied. "We should give you a moment."

"No." Curze shook his head. "We press on."

The Primarch got to his feet and let his head clear. A Primarch was crying out for vengeance beyond the grave, and for the first time since taking this mission, Curze wanted to know why. Surely Adonnas had gotten what he had wanted, the Imperium split in half and flooded with daemons? And what of Charion's role? He wanted to know why two of his brothers had been declared heretics, in a universe that had not yet gone mad. For despite all his doubts, the Night Haunter had no doubt that it mattered a great deal, and that there was more to this story that he was meant to uncover.


	7. Chapter Six

The Raven Guard moved slowly and silently. Despite the bulk of their armour, they moved without a sound, a trick engraved into their minds many years ago during the struggle for Deliverance and other wars. Ahead of the Primarch, the Veteran Sergeant moved his auspex around, his memories of his home-world and his former fortress-monastery returning to him full-fold. Corax watched his nephew silently, understanding how much of a toll this was taking on the former son of Adonnas. For over a century he had had to pretend to be something he was not, and although he had been loyal to his uncle and cousins, he would always be a Storm Rider in his heart.

He stopped as he heard a sound and raised his hand. Corax joined his side and glanced at the scanner on the sergeant's arm. There were marks ahead of them, about 10 meters. He read the runes and arched an eyebrow: it would seem that they were indeed in the company of shadows.

He made two gestures with his hands and his company moved into the shadows. Uneses readied his flamer and waited for his Primarch's signal. When it was given, he let loose a pillar of flame that entered the opening ahead. At first there was nothing, but then the scream was doubled as flesh-burning fire covered the two Shadow Warriors, who fell from their perch. Another gout of flame brought another two warriors down to their doom.

An anguished roar, and Uneses only brought his arm up in time to stave a blow from Acerbus Krieg, his twin axes whirling in unison. Behind him, his chosen flooded into the chamber. The Raven Guard were on the defensive as the Night Lords before them attacked their traitorous cousins.

Corax ignited the Raven's Talons and dragged them across a Night Lord in Terminator armour. When the Night Lord looked up in shock, he brought his storm bolter up and under the jaw, cracking through the helm and tearing the Terminator's jaw clean off.

Uneses managed to get some breathing room as Acerbus mistimed a swing and, raising his boot, he kicked the second company captain in the midriff and threw his flamer to one side. In a swift moment, he drew an axe that seemed out of place with the slick and shadowed style of the Raven Guard. Bright blue and silver sparks coursed off the blade, silver in color, as he activated the weapon and whispered a mantra to the spirit within. Etched along the blade were words in the old language of the Sturmgarten, and as Branne looked up, he stared as the giant axe cleaved the air between the sergeant and the deranged captain known as the Axemaster. Everything around the sergeant seemed to fade and be replaced by the cheering of the neophytes and scouts, as his memory played back the day he had faced the beloved First Captain in the training ring. Even though he remained focused on the enemy before him, his body seemed to work in unison with a memory long ago dead.

He moved like liquid silver, ducking under swings that, had it been anywhere or anyone else, might have taken his head off his shoulders. Muttering in his battle cant, Uneses ducked under one blow and brought the hilt of his axe up under the Night Lords jaw. The crack reverberated around the bloody room where Raven Guard and Night Lord still fought one another. Neither hesitated for even an instant in the battle, for the Night Lords fought for the glory of the Imperium, the Raven Guard for the death of their brothers of the 152nd and the betrayal of that Imperium's principles, and both for the dint of being the true masters of shadows. The war was a storm, if one no mortal eyes could cleanly see.

Yet the storm stopped with one word.

 **"ENOUGH!"**

The voice boomed across the chamber, echoing around them and, despite everything, causing them all to stop fighting, Corax rose from two Astartes who he had killed. The bodies of the fabled Shadow Warriors lay burnt or cut in two, scattered around the area. Corax snarled beneath his blood-covered face as Curze walked into the room.

"Desecrating the place of the dead, brother? Shame on you," he taunted the Raven-Lord.

"Here for the demented father when he caused this? Shame on you, Night Haunter," Corax breathed.

His body trembled with rage, and not only the rage of interrupted combat. This man had once been a comrade in arms, but there had been no friendship and no bond between them except that of siblinghood, for both Primarchs had strived to prove that they were the real masters of the shadows. It had always ended as it began, no clear winner, equal on all sides.

"I come to fulfill the Emperor's wishes, as I always have, Corax. Come, let us talk in private."

"I doubt that you wish to talk, Curze." Corax narrowed his eyes.

They both turned as Krieg, angered at the intervention into his fight, ran at the Raven Guard Primarch. Uneses reacted swiftly: he span his axe and threw it. It seemed to slow time for the moment that the axe took to fly true to its target and cut the head off the Second Captain of the Night Lords. The body moved a little further before falling to the ground, while the head flew and landed at the feat of the First Captain of the Night Lords.

"Bloody idiot," Sevatar swore, but did nothing. He'd had no liking for Acerbus in life and he certainly did not mourn his loss. He leant on his trident and inclined his head at the sergeant: he deserved the respect for saving his Primarch's life, not that Corax had truly needed the saving. At the moment, the Lord of Nostramo wanted to talk, and Acerbus would have dishonoured his father. As it was, Curze picked the axe from the floor where it had landed and looked at the inscription. It was finely balanced and honed to a sharp edge: this had been made for the sergeant's hands only, and he deserved it. He walked to him and handed it back to him.

"Adonnas would have been proud of you, sergeant." He looked at Corax. "I want to talk, that is all; after that, what you do is up to you." He turned to Sevatar, "Make sure no one interferes."

"As you wish, my lord; shall I have Acerbus's body returned to the _Nightfall_?"

Curze shrugged, indicating that Sevatar could do as he wished, and the Primarch walked alongside his raven brother. It didn't stop the Night Lords and Raven Guard in the room from glaring at each other and the tension was permeated the air; but for the moment, violence was stayed.

* * *

The room that the two Primarchs walked into was wreathed in darkness. The smell of death clung to the walls, though there were no bodies here anymore, as they had all crumbled to dust long before. Still, the cloying sense of anger, indignation and vengeance screamed out to Corax, and he had to steady his mind and his soul against such overwhelming emotions. He could almost see the final hours as they were condemned to die, although for what he was not altogether certain of.

He glanced to his left. If being in the dark was supposed to unnerve him, then Curze was sorely mistaken. For as much as it wrapped the Lord of the Night in a second skin, the Raven Lord also wore the darkness like a comfortable coat. He could see Curze ahead of him; whether this was all orchestrated for his account or if, like so many other areas of the now-broken monastery, darkness was permanent, he did not know.

"You wanted to talk, so... talk." Corax folded his arms and leant against a wall, his eyes picking out his brother as perfectly as if it were daylight.

He could not believe the changes that had come over his brother. Oh, Curze had always been a little unstable; being able to see the future and possibly his own death could do that to a man, and had he not been so... insane in his beliefs, Corax might just have felt sorry for him. But Curze did not like pity, he abhorred it, and as much as it made his skin crawl being in the same room as the midnight-clad pale-skinned Primarch, who might have been Corax's twin had circumstances dictated differently, he was not going to dishonour his brother with such thoughts. He was a proud monster, but he was also his brother.

"Can you not feel it, Corvus?" Curze asked, his voice as quiet as the grave he seemed permanently at home with.

"Feel what?"

"The anger, the rage, the desolation at the injustice of it all."

The Night Haunter walked around the darkened room, though Corax saw him as clear as if they were in daylight. The Primarch of the Night Lords had his arms outstretched, drinking in the anger and the rage as well as the fear of the humans and those who had not yet become scouts. Their emotions, and especially their fears, were purely human, not yet dulled by becoming an Astarte.

"You are aware of why they were killed, butchered, aren't you?" the Night Haunter asked his brother.

"Like we all are," Corax kept his voice even, though it was with great difficulty. He had not expected to talk to Curze here, rather than fighting his brother; and as such, his patience for Curze's aggression was limited.

"You do not lie well, brother; none of us except Russ and Angron knew the truth. But I do. I now know what no one else knew."

"And you brought me in here to gloat about that!" Corax snarled. "Our demented father **murdered** his sons, like he had Malcador murdered, like he murdered Valdor!"

Curze turned, and his pale visage regarded his equally pale brother. Two Primarchs, brothers by genealogy, both raised in darkness, but one a hero, venerated by the people of the world he delivered, the other a despot, feared by the people of the world he kept under his heel.

"Tell me, Corvus." If Corax was surprised at the sound of his forename from Curze's lips, he hid it well. "What is it like to have a world revere you as their saviour? The man that freed them?"

"You know that is not entirely true. There are overlords who still want me dead," Corax stated, "and I suspect if someone gave them that opportunity to retake the power they lost, they would certainly take it."

"Humour me, brother; what does it feel like to be a master of the night who is not feared by those he saved?"

There was a slight change in tone of the Night Lord's voice. It was not as deep as it normally was, and for a moment, it was like Corax was listening to a tired man. The Raven-Lord did not lower his guard: he could not tell if this was a trick or if he was listening to the hidden side of the Night Haunter.

"I don't think about it like that," Corax finally said. "I treat them all as my family, they were my family for years. We are what our circumstances made us. Is this what you wanted to talk about?"

Curze sat down on the floor. "I tire of being the bogeyman sometimes. I have done everything that father wanted, but I know that he uses my ability for fear to his advantage. I walked in here and I saw Adonnas. I saw what was done to him: he offered to talk to the Wolf King, but Angron was still angry at what had happened to his family at Desh'ea, he wanted to prove he was a warrior."

"You are not telling me anything that I do not already know." Corax unfolded his arms. "If it is a fight you want, brother, then let us decide who is the master of the night, my Ravens or your Night Lords. Because you are not leaving here with Adonnas's sons' legacy, I swear that to you. I would rather it got buried then end up in the hands of you and your demented master."

 **"That is not what I called you here for!** " Curze shouted. "This always happens with you and the others! You all think I am a mad serial killer who knows nothing more that murder and fear! I am trying to reach out to the one brother I thought might understand what it means to be a child of the night"

Corax arched an eyebrow and waited as the madness in his brothers eyes subsided. "It is an image you have cultivated, brother. Ask Vulkan or Dorn... they are both in league with the Emperor now."

"Vulkan? He is not what he used to be, the fires have him now. The Vulkan you knew is gone, the Salamanders you fought alongside are gone, they are... something more. And Dorn..." Curze waved his hand dismissively. "Dorn will always be Dorn, the Praetorian will always do as his father wishes."

"As will you."

"No! I was sent here, yes, but I am here to save Adonnas, to resurrect his sons in the image they were supposed to be, warriors of the Imperium, great Astartes. There is also the gene-seed of the Sons of Hades within those walls. The Emperor wanted them kept safe, now, now we know why. I envy you sometimes, Corax, you do not have the power to see the lines of the future. Every day I see my death, hear the words of death. So I do not fear it - why fear something that will come to get me eventually?"

Corax wasn't sure where this was going, for Curze was rambling, incoherent, one moment softer-spoken, the next darker, deeper-toned. It was like listening to two different men, one side of his brother battling with another. But he did not have the patience to wait out that battle. Perhaps Curze did not know what he wanted, but Corax had come here with a mission, and he would complete it - whether it involved fighting the Night Lords or not.

"I don't care about what you think or not, Curze. I am leaving here, and I am bombing this place from orbit, whether you have left it by then or not. The Storm Riders and the Sons of Hades will rest in peace, and not be resurrected as some infernal army."

Corax turned his back and realised he had made a mistake. He was felled by a shoulder barge that would have put Russ to shame. He was quickly picked up and tossed across the room, like he was nothing more than a human child.

Shaking his head to clear it, he only just moved as Curze came at him again, spittle flying from his mouth as he spouted his rantings, Corax was going to have to fight for his life and prove that he was the master of the night...

* * *

None of the Raven Guard or Night Lords could hear what was going on in the rooms that their fathers had gone into, but there was something about the ruined fortress that put the wind up even Sevatar's spine. Only Uneses didn't seem uncomfortable here, perhaps because he was home. Agapito set his hostility aside for a moment and moved to the Night Lords First Captain's side.

"You are still murdering bastards for what you did to our brothers," he snarled, "and there will be a reckoning for that, but given the truce, I think we all need to leave here. This place is not to be trifled with."

"Scared, little Raven?" Sahaal smirked.

"I was talking to the organ grinder, not the monkey," Agapito evenly said and returned his attention to the silent First Captain. "This place smells wrong."

Sevatar shifted his stance a little and moved his trident so that it was in front of him. He looked around him and his surroundings. The truth was, he had felt wrong since they had set foot in this place. He would follow his master wherever he led, though, for he had more love for his father than he did for his grandfather. He had liked the way the Raven Guard captain had spoken to Sahaal; it always cheered him up when the likes of Krieg and Sahaal got put in their place... ah, hell, Acerbus wasn't going anywhere except the afterlife, if there was one. A shame. As to Sahaal, he was a scheming worm, a true Nostraman to the bone.

"I find that I am in agreement with you for the moment, cousin," he conceded. "But we were sent here to do a job, and nothing short of the Dark King telling me otherwise will get me to leave this place without what we came for."

"Look around you, Jago, open your mind - this is a place of anger and death, ruined long ago. Any gene-seed that survived this will be tainted with that rage, physically or psychically, and it will not work in the way that the Emperor wants," Agapito snarked.

"We are not alone." Uneses got to his feet and cocked his head a little, as if listening to something... or for something. Agapito and Sevatarion turned to face the former Storm Rider. They heard nothing at first, then faintly, the sound of marching feet. "My brothers have come for their due."

"Ghosts do not exist," Sevatarion snarled, although there was an undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice."No such thing!"

"Who are you trying to convince?" Branne called as the sound of marching feet drew every closer. "Us, or yourself?"

"There must be a break in the veil here somewhere," Sheng assumed.

"A what?"

"A tear in reality," Sheng explained. "A Word Bearer explained it to me. There are things in the Warp that would like to come through, to bless us, or more likely feast on us. There are barriers that keep this in check and make sure it doesn't happen, but there is a tear here somewhere. That is why we feel the mountainous rage. Usually it is psykers that create such weak spots in reality..."

Sevatar snapped his head round to look at Uneses. "Your father was a psyker, wasn't he? How powerful was he, exactly?"

Uneses shrugged. "Not in Magnus's league, that is for certain, but he might have been moreso than Sanguinius."

"Oh great," Branne muttered.

"Its a trap." Sevatar scowled; he had wondered why they had been sent to this unmarked world. He was a Nostraman, he had no fear for he was fear, but this had all seemed too simple to him. Collect a human who kept the Emperor's law, come to Urashan and retrieve gene-seed that had somehow not been destroyed, it just so happening that the Raven Guard were here... they had been played for fools. Was the Emperor playing them against each other? But then, not even the Emperor knew what had happened in the decades since the wolves attacked. This had just gone to prove his own disquiet about the whole thing. The footsteps drew closer, and both Agapito and Sevatar sent a vox to their fathers. Nev was right: their own animosities could be sorted another time, but for the moment they needed to work together.


	8. Chapter Seven

Corax got to his feet and lifted into the air as Curze came at him again, the blood on the back of his head already congealing and receding. He needed to think, to collect his focus; and the only way he could do that was to get out of reach of his insane brother.

"Come on, little raven," Night Hunter taunted. "You think I cannot see you?"

Corax wraith-slipped into the darkness and remained where he was. Part of him wanted to end the madness his brother was suffering, to give him some peace; but now he realized that would be a mistake. He knew what had happened to the White Scars with the Khan dead. Despite what he thought about the Night Lords and their demented father, he would rather not see the universe at the mercy of their grieving rampage. They were bad enough with him; without their father they would be even worse, and that fury would be turned entirely on the fragile Coalition. Not even the charisma of Jago Sevatar would be able to keep all the rogue factions in line, nor restrain the worst of their monstrosity. For, inconceivable as it was, most of the Night Lords were worse than their father.

No, the best he could do was to fight it out, then get out of here and get his sons, bombard the fortress from orbit, and ensure that there was no way the gene-seed got into the hands of his brother or his father. Adjusting his position, he activated his Talons and dive-bombed his brother.

Curze looked up to see a blackened figure come down at him. For the briefest of moments he froze; his vision, death upon black wings, came back to him. Then he snapped out of his trance and moved aside; he avoided the bulk of the attack, but the Raven's claw caught him across his face. Already the Primarch's own healing was acting to seal the wound, but Corax flipped himself up and drove his boots into Curze's stomach, knocking the wind from him and landing flat. With his hand closed around the gorget of the other Primarch's armour, he landed several blows in quick succession.

"You could have been the best of us," Corax snarled. "You could have been the brother I could count on! You asked me what it is like to be adored by the people of my world?"

He landed a blow that would have killed an Astarte on the Primarch's face. Its only effect was to cause Curze's head to snap back, blood pouring from his broken nose.

"It feels liberating, knowing that I took them forward from their pasr, that I helped them better themselves - you could have done that, Konrad! Instead you became the very thing you were hunting. You became worse than the criminal element, because murder and torture became you!"

Curze raised his fist and smashed it against the side of the Raven-Lord's face, then rolled until he was on top of the Raven-Lord. As Corax had done to him, he rained blows down onto the Raven-Lord.

"Thank you for enlightening me."

As Corax fended off the worst of the blows, he saw the madness in Curze's eyes fade for a moment, there was a sorrow there that was soon swallowed up by whatever the other personality he possessed was. He moved his head back, and faster than the Kirvahe Lizard, he rammed his head forward, head-butting the Night Lords' Primarch.

Corax did it twice more and, scrambling to his feet, he lifted Curze up and above his head. For a moment he hovered there, with something other than his own conscience telling him to end this now. It would be so easy to do, but he has made his decision already, and he would not violate for a moment's frustration. Curze had to live, and live unbroken.

Corax threw his brother into a wall, causing it fall around the Primarch as he slumped to the ground.

"I am not Angron, I am not you!" Corax breathed. "I am blowing this place, and there is nothing you can do about it. I owe you, Curze, for what happened to my sons, but it will not be decided now... there is enough death here."

"On the contrary, brother." Curze got to his feet, his lightning claws - named Mercy and Forgiveness by his sons - springing into life. "There is not enough death here. There is only one master of the night, one master of fear and it is me!"

Corax roared as the Night Haunter moved faster than ever before, and before he could react, the lightning claws erupted through his chest. His physiology went into hyper drive as it tried to compensate for the damage that had been done to it. Corax sank to his knees, fighting the urge for his body to shut down. Curze withdrew his lightning claws and crouched down across from his brother. His helm scanned the other Primarch, curious as to how long it would take Corax to succumb to his wounds.

"We could have been so close, you and I; two brothers who understood the nature of the night, making it work for us."

"I will never be like you." Corax coughed up blood. "I do not kill for the thrill of it, I do not kill those who would speak out of turn against me, and I do not have my people so in fear that to say one word that is construed as sin would result in their death."

"It is called order, perfect in its making. My people no longer fear the criminals and corrupt politicians that made their world a dangerous place, but only me. For they have me to protect them, to rule over them with the laws that should be followed to make their lives better."

"You call... ugh... living in fear for the rest of their lives a victory? Have you seen what has happened to your world? To your Legion? I have seen how much more... violent they are. We all know that your perfect world of justice is slipping back without its tyrant there... you restored order to it once, but it will not last. Do you even realise it?"

"My world is perfect!" Curze got to his feet and stood over his brother. "My world is order, my world is what all worlds should be."

"Your world is like children let loose when the king is not there to keep order. It is a world of gangs and murderers, some of which call themselves police. And it is a world that will always be on that edge; without you there, brother, it returns to what it was." Corax began to laugh "The biggest joke is that you failed to create true order, because the rule of fear is the rule of force, and thus of simple brutality. Even your Night Lords are no longer the sin-free warriors they were... their excesses prove that aplenty."

"You know nothing!" Curze hissed, and it was then that Corax, struggling to keep his eyes open, saw what his brother had become. He had filed his teeth to sharp points.

"I know that you have become the monster they say you are, you say you will not deal with daemons... but look in the mirror, Konrad, that's all you ever will be. So kill me if that's what you want to do. But know this, the Lord of Ravens does not die easily!"

Despite his weakened state, Corax lashed out with his own lightning claw, the motion coming without the slightest forewarning. Unable to react in time, Curze could only watch as Corax slashed his arm at the left elbow, cutting through armour, flesh and bone cleanly. Curze stepped back, shocked at what had happened, and fell onto his back, while Corax struggled to his feet and moved out the door into a scene from an old ghost story.

* * *

The Night Lords and Raven Guard could only look on in shock as the human, Polarick, was raised off the ground by ghostly hands. Tears flowed from his eyes and his feet were kicking thin air. The smell of soiled underwear hit the noses of all present. Uneses moved forward and kept his hands raised.

But Corax's attention was drawn to the ghostly Astartes who now surrounded the living. They were like a fog of spirits. He heard his name and felt two arms steady him as Branne and Agapito realised their Primarch was wounded.

Sevatar, seeing the wounded Raven-Lord and knowing that no ghost could have inflicted those injuries, ran into the room the Raven-Lord had exited from and let a cry of anguish escape his lips. His father was on the floor, a pool of his blood around his severed arm, causing the First Captain's head to sway as he could smell the much richer gene-altered blood that had belonged to his father. The wound had clotted, but the arm itself was useless.

"I shall kill them all," Sevatar growled.

"No," Curze moaned. "What is happening out there?"

Sevatar paused for a moment, not sure if he wanted to explain what he did not believe was really there. "Ghosts, father, spirits of the dead"

After a long moment, he let the First Captain help him up and allowed him to help him out into the now-stunned gathering.

Polarick was having difficulty breathing. Even for a ghost, the Astarte that held him high had a grip like ice, cutting off his airways.

"This one, this one holds the answers we require," an ethereal voice emitted from the mouth of the one that was holding the human.

Uneses swallowed a little and moved forward. "My Lord Klyne." He bowed his head. "Please, sir, the human cannot possibly help you."

"Uneses?" The head turned. "This human bears the knowledge we need, why we were killed. Why our grandfather sent the Red Angel against us and the Wolf King. I will have it, and I will ensure that so do you all."

"He cannot say anything, Captain, if you squeeze the life from him," Corax spoke, ignoring the presence of his brother.

"We were brought here as a trap, my lord," Branne explained. "It would appear that we all, Night Lords included, have been tricked."

Curze arched an eyebrow and looked at Sevatar, who nodded. "As much as I hate to agree with the raven, he speaks the truth, my lord."

"So, Polarick," Curze snarled, his sheer strength of will keeping him conscious and upright. "It seems you have something left to say. Speak!"

The human was dropped to the floor and crawled into the corner, whimpering and crying. The room was unnaturally cold. That didn't bother the Astartes; what bothered them more was the fact they were seeing something that could not in all possibility exist. These were the stories of superstitious soldiers, of humans who lived on worlds where such tales were folklore. Even their respective homeworlds had such tales. But as Astartes, they were above such superstitions.

Ghosts should not exist... but as the Night Lord Sheng had explained, there was a tear in the Warp here, the veil between the real world and what lay beyond tattered by a battle decades in the past. Who was to say what the laws of physics were now? And in an age of daemons, perhaps ghosts were a relatively reasonable foe to face.

Especially when they wanted the same answers that the Night Lords and Raven Guard did.

"The Emperor contacted me months ago," Polarick whimpered. "Told me to make sure that you came here... and that the Raven-Lord did, too."

"Why?" Sahaal demanded.

"To see what happens to those who displease him, the fate that would befall all who displeased him. And most of all, so that you would kill the Raven-Lord, to become who you must."

Corax felt his jaw twitch in anger, but the whimpering man's ramblings had not such reaction on the face of the Night Haunter. If anything, it was as if he was expecting this - which, indeed, he had been. The visions of his dead brother had more or less confirmed that now.

"So why were the Storm Riders and the Sons of Hades expunged?" he asked, although his voice was wavering a little, his strength fading from the blood loss. If it gave him any satisfaction, he could see that Corax too was failing.

"The Storm Riders discovered the truth about him, about what he was and how he has lived for as long as he has, what deals he has made to keep his power infinite. He did not want that known."

"And what is this big secret?" Branne clenched and unclenched his fist,

Polarick shook his head and remained silent. Sevatar marched over and pushed the tip of his trident against the human's chest, the voices of the dead Astartes whispering behind him. Polarick did not moved, but stared the Night Lord's terrifying helm in the lenses, showing clearly that he was ready to face worse than death before revealing that secret.

"The gene-seed?"

"Degraded. The moment he killed the tech-priests, he had the monitors put to sleep and the gene-seed degraded." Polarick wiped his eyes. "He had foreseen what would happen if the two unspoken-of Primarchs were able to prove why he is eternal; and he could and would allow nothing to interfere in his dreams."

There was a hiss behind Sevatar, and he turned slowly to see the ghostly Astartes move away. Uneses bowed his head. "Granar Tesh Madaran."

The spirit that was the First Captain nodded and, in Imperial Gothic, said, "Serve the Ravens well, brother. Adonnas will be proud. We, as our cousins, were sacrificed for a madman's schemes. That is all we wanted to know; now our rage fades, and we can rest"

Sahaal wiped his brow "And what happens if we were to all leave this place alive?"

"You would not get that far. He has already informed Lorgar to deal with the Night Lords if they do not carry out his orders." Polarick looked up, the echo of a smile on his face, a deliberate provocation. It did not go unanswered.

In a fit of rage, Sevatar pushed the trident into the human's body, feeling the satisfied scrunch of flesh and bone. With a pull, he tore the trident up and through the human's head, cleaving him almost in half.

"So, like the Storm Riders and Sons of Hades, we would become the forgotten sons." He breathed. "We need to get our lord back to the _Nightfall_ and you need to attend to yours."

"We can't let the Emperor get away with this!" Sahaal glared. "He has betrayed us, too."

"I knew he would." Curze looked at Corax. "You will need a Primarch on the inside. I offer this not for you, or Horus, or anything so crass as nobility, I offer this as my way of wrecking my own revenge."

"You think...think I am going to trust you, Curze?" Corax breathed, his vision becoming cloudy as his body sought to make him rest so he could heal. His soul, however, was another matter.

"I don't care if you do or don't. I am just offering a way to exact revenge on our father. And I am the only one that can do it."

Corax said nothing and Curze took that as acquiescence. With that, he passed out, his brother following.

* * *

Agapito stood in the doorway of the medicae unit, watching the Apothecaries minister to their Lord. He would survive, but without proper knowledge of how the Primarch's body worked, all they could do was administer to the Primarch the best they knew how and hope that his enhanced physiology did the rest.

The Captain had seen the Night Lords' vessel bombard the Planet of Storms from space, all the way until the crust had cracked and yawned, spewing its molten blood, until eventually it gave up the fight and blew apart in a showering wreck of earthquakes and tremors that ripped the world apart.

He was still unsure as to what he had seen, whether it was real, or if their own senses had reached out in their need to know why the Storm Riders had died. He was also interested as to what had happened between his father and the Night Lords' mad Primarch. He had half-expected an attack by the Night Lords for what had happened, but none came; instead they turned around after destroying Sturmgarten and simply went their own way.

Unless Corax divulged what had occurred, he would be left in the dark. Whatever it was hadn't been pleasant. The Primarch's bare chest showed the scars that would remain. He had been struck from behind with those blasted talons of the Night Haunter, though Agapito allowed himself a wry smile, for his father had certainly returned the favour in kind. Corax would bear the scars of his brother's attack, but they would be hidden under his armour. Curze would have his on public display. No doubt there would be an bionic arm made for him, but he would never be the same.

No one had truly hurt Curze before in the way that Corax had done. Agapito turned as Branne joined his side.

"How's he doing?"

"He will recover," his brother spoke. "What do you think of what happened?"

"I think the Emperor has a bigger secret than anyone realised, and it's one he is prepared to expunge Legions to keep secret." Agapito motioned with his head and the two brothers walked away,

"But he wanted us to die."

"We didn't, though. I thought it was touch and go for a moment, but we didn't, and I doubt Curze will ever believe anything his father says to him."

"Did he ever?"

"He won't now, either way. Still I wonder what he meant by Lorgar having orders."

"Who? The human?" Agapito nodded. Branne shrugged. "I don't care. All I care about is the primarch laying in the apothecarion bed. What shall I tell the crew?"

"Tell them he is well, and will be with us when he has recovered. For now, I will assume command of the Legion, until the Raven-Lord is fit."

Branne bowed his head a little, then said as an afterthought, "What do you suppose Curze will do?"

"Apart from lick his wounds?" Agapito folded his arms. "I really don't know. Whatever it is, it won't be good. He will want Corax's head at some point for the loss of his arm, but right now, he will want revenge for what happened there."

"But what exactly _did_ happen there?"

Agapito smiled thinly. "The Emperor wanted two Legions gone. Kill the Raven Guard's leadership, and deprive Horus of a Legion equivalent to the Night Lords in terms of combat disciplines. The Night Lords would have taken severe losses, and had no choice but to toe his line as they recover. It might have worked, too - we should not have rushed in with so few forces. But we were saved by luck, skill, and the fact that the Night Lords toe no one's line save their own."

Branne shook his head. "He really has gone mad, hasn't he?"

Agapito nodded and the two brothers walked towards the bridge.

* * *

In the depths of the Imperial Palace, a golden figure walked the paths of the future. Shadow, it saw, and ruin, and the injustice of memory. And above all, the monster in the dark turning on him, a likely confluence becoming an inevitable one.

As the Emperor of Mankind's mind returned to his body, he staggered. It was true, then. The Night Haunter had failed his test.

He allowed, as an indulgence, one tear to slide down his face, for yet another son lost.

And then, once again, he was left with only the cold resolve to destroy the enemies of his dream.

"Lorgar," he sent. "Do what you must."


	9. Epilogue

The _Nightfall_ translated into the Nostraman system to be hailed by the _Fidelitas Lex_. Almost immediately, they were boarded not just by three Word Bearers but by two Iron Hands Apothecaries and the Primarch of the Word Bearers himself. Despite his personal feelings, the First Captain of the Night Lords and his brothers, awed by the sheer presence of a Primarch, moved to one knee.

"You honour us, Lord." Sevatarion chose his words carefully, not wanting to give anything away about what they had seen and learnt, if they had learnt anything.

"What happened, Jago? And rise, my nephews, honour has been done." Lorgar extended his hand palm down. Sevatar touched his forehead to the hand and rose slowly.

Everything had to be done as it would have been, had they not learnt that they were to be sacrificed. Lorgar was the Black Pope, the head of the Emperor's cult; and therefore, as much as it galled him, he had to be treated as such.

"Corax was there my lord. He and my father got into an altercation, and as you can see, our father lost his lower arm."

"And the gene-seed?"

"Degraded beyond any hope of recuperation, my lord."

Lorgar nodded a couple of times and stood, looking at the world of Nostramo below him. The Night Lords had failed, and there was only one answer for that. The Night Lords were becoming too unpredictable, more so than his father had first thought. It would be easy to destroy the ship, but his orders were simple. If they failed, he had to teach them a lesson they would never forget.

"The Emperor was wondering, what happened to the human that travelled with you? He saw no mention of it in your report, Jago."

"Dead."

"I see. Anything else you omitted?"

"No, lord."

"Captain Sevatarion... five more Word Bearer vessels have translated from the Warp," Sahaal looked up, "heading here."

Jago turned to Lorgar. "Is there a problem, lord?" Deep inside, he had a sinking feeling.

"The Emperor wanted the gene-seed to be recovered, and any interference dealt with. The former may have been impossible, but the latter was not beyond your Legion's capabilities. I was also informed that Nostramo is becoming... unstable... once more. The element coming into the Night Lords would be detrimental to what the Emperor requires."

"We can deal with our own problems, my lord." Sevatar narrowed his eyes. "We could not deal with the Raven Guard; to do so would have meant leaving our Lord to die, and I was not prepared to do that. There will be other opportunities to bring them to cull."

"I know, Jago." Lorgar turned his head slightly. "This will give you and your brothers more of an incentive to do as the Emperor instructs in the future. Konrad has paid with the loss of his arm, and I suspect his psyche is more fractured than it was... but this is more than punishment. This will send a message out to all who fail the Emperor and his creed. A tactic that your Legion is well-acquainted with."

Before the stunned gazes of the Astartes, the Word Bearer vessels began firing upon their home world.

"No!" Sahaal roared, and launched himself at Lorgar only to be caught and restrained by Sevatar. "What are they doing!" he yelled. "That's our world down there!"

++You try and stop him, you will die too. Remember it, brother. Remember that we have been betrayed by our allies. Remember it, and feed upon it. For memory is vengeance.++

The world of Nostramo died in a fire of righteous bombardment. As it cracked and tore itself apart, everything the Night Lords held in their hearts died with it. They had planned to address the issues of their homeworld, to say nothing of personal unfinished business. All those futures would never come to pass, justice for countless crimes left forever undone, lost with the perpetrators, the victims, and the records alike.

Lorgar nodded as Nostramo died and turned to face the humiliated Night Lords. "The Emperor forgives you. He does not wish his Night Lords to become forgotten sons."

Jago Sevatarion could only watch as the world he loved fractured into pieces, millions of lives snuffed out because they did not kill the Primarch of the Raven Guard or retrieve the gene-seed of two dead Legions. His heart blackened with rage and vengeance. From this day forth, the Night Lords truly were alone.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED in the eleventh book of the Renegades Saga, _The Fall of a Legion_.


End file.
